Blood of Dragons
by onlinesorcery
Summary: An orphan girl on the streets of Riften struggles for survival by falling in with those like her. But fate has a different path in mind, one that will take her from the back alleys of Riften to the end of the world itself.
1. Prologue

My homeland has been torn apart by civil war.

The Empire uses its vast might to crush the uprising. The rebels refuse to break, giving blow for blow, blood for blood, death for death. The snows run red. Holds are splintering from within as family turns on family. No one knows who to trust. My home is tearing itself apart.

And I'm not even sure which side is right.

People would laugh at me for that. What would I know about right and wrong? I'm a thief. I begged on the streets of Riften before the Guild took me in. I spent years with them, stealing for money or just to survive. I was nothing. I meant nothing to anyone.

Now all of Skyrim knows my name. Imperials and Stormcloaks alike claim it is my divine destiny to help them. Champion they call me. Savior.

Dragonborn.

I just wish I knew what that meant.

My name is Issana Hastratus, and this is my story.


	2. Night Streets

Rain poured off the roofs. It fell in thousands of little waterfalls from shingles towards the streets, where it splashed into the roadside pools below. The night sky was starless, blocked out by heavy clouds that flickered with distant lightning.

Issana huddled deeper into the shadow of a wall. She sat hugging her knees, her soaked dress clinging to her thin frame. Wet brown hair had plastered itself against her face as rain dripped in her eyes and splashed mud over her tattered shoes.

She cast a look down the dark street. Others shivered in the shadows here too, men, women, all without a single Septim to their name. The outcasts. Riften's downtrodden.

She was one of them now, kicked from the orphanage the day she turned sixteen. Issana raised a hand to gingerly touch the bruising Grelod had given her on the cheek. It was nothing new. Issana knew she was lucky to have escaped with such a minor beating. Some of the other kids had tried to stay past their coming-of-ages too, and bruises were considered a blessing.

Being kicked out into the rain wasn't much of a surprise either. It always rained here. People said that Riften rained for half the year, and the other half it was about to.

That didn't make it any more comfortable.

Issana glanced up as footsteps sounded through the mud. There was a man standing a couple of yards away, hood up to keep the rain out of his face. He crouched down and offered her a bottle. "Something to warm you up, girl?"

Issana shivered and glanced at him warily. "What is it?"

It'll make you feel better, trust me."

Issana took it. The bottle was old and scratched and looked like it had been used and reused many times. And something about the man's smile seemed a little bit… unsettling.

"No, thank you," Issana said. She passed the bottle back. "I'll be all right."

"Oh, I insist," said the man. He edged closer. "Just a sip. You'll feel all better."

Issana tossed the bottle back to him. "No."

The man threw it to her once again. "I said, 'drink'." His cloak shifted and she caught sight of a long knife at his belt.

"And I said no." Issana hurled the bottle at his head and sprang away. Her wet dress tangled itself around her legs and she stumbled. The man caught her by the wrist. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to listen to your elders?" He uncorked the bottle and shoved it into her face. "Drink!"

Issana let out a panicked squeak as a huge shadow suddenly loomed over them. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a voice.

The man spun around and a heavy axe shaft caught him under the chin. He fell flat, groaning. A muscular, armoured woman stood over him, axe resting on one shoulder. She planted a foot on the man's chest. "Are you all right?"

Issana nodded.

The man let out a grunt as the woman leaned her weight on him. "No," she said. "You and I have a meeting with the guards."

The woman stooped to pick up the bottle and gave it a sniff. "Skooma. You're lucky you didn't drink it."

Issana could only nod dumbly.

The woman let her axe slide into a loop on her back before reaching down to grab the stunned man by his cloak.

With a snarl he lunged. Steel flashed but clanged off the woman's iron plates. The woman dealt him an iron-clad punch and knocked him flat again. She kicked the knife away and struck him one more time, shaking blood from the man's lip off her gauntlet. She glanced down at Issana as she heaved the man upright. "Take care of yourself."

Issana picked up the knife from where it had fallen. "Thank you."

The woman nodded and began to walk away, dragging her hapless prisoner behind her.

"Wait," Issana called after her. "Who are you?"

The woman turned and smiled. "Mjoll." She gave the struggling man a kick and dragged him off into the rain-soaked night.


	3. Welcome to Riften

The rain showed no sign of letting up even after dawn. Issana had hardly slept, too cold and wet and wary to for her eyes to close. As the sun's rays began to glow in the eastern sky, she brushed her dripping hair from her eyes and got up. Her stomach growled.

She wasn't quite sure where she was going, but her feet led her absent-mindedly through the streets. Not many people were out at this hour, let alone in this weather, and the few that were seemed to glare at her out of dark alleys. She glanced down at the rain-flooded ground and kept walking.

Her foot caught something wooden and she went sprawling. "Hey!" someone shouted. "Watch where you're going!"

Issana stood upright, wiping her hands on her dress. She winced at the scratches the road had inflicted on her palms. "I'm sorry," she said, turning around. She saw an angry-looking dark elf woman, red-eyed and grey-skinned, glowering down at her with folded arms. The wooden object she'd tripped over was the wheel of a cart, on top of which sat a pile of vegetables. The dunmer stood beneath an attached awning, doing her best to stay dry.

"Be careful," the elf said.

"I will. I'm sorry." Issana looked the vegetables up and down and her stomach growled again. "I-" she began hesitantly. "I don't have any money. Do you-"

The elf shook her head. "I don't do handouts. Sorry."

Issana swallowed hard. "I… I understand." She turned and walked away.

She looked around and saw she was in Riften's central marketplace, normally a cacophony of noise and colour on an island in the city's canals. Today, however, the rain seemed to have kept many of the merchants indoors. There were a few laying out their wares as the sun rose higher, as well as several beggars, but the market was mostly deserted.

"Spare a coin?"

Issana glanced around for the source of the voice and saw an old, balding man sitting on a rotting wooden box. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't have anything."

The man snorted. "Sure, sure. I'm a dirty beggar. Why would you-"

"No," Issana interrupted. "I really don't. I… I just got kicked out of Honorhall."

"What, the orphanage?" said the man. "Old Grelod losing her kind heart?"

Issana laughed bitterly. "Right."

"Well, then," said the old man. "Let me welcome you to the real Riften. All the rich piles of dung walking past us like we're not there, pretending we don't exist. That's what you've got to look forward to. Enjoy."

Issana wiped something from her eye and she wasn't entirely sure if it was a drop of rain.

"Ah," said the beggar. "Come here. Come sit by old Snilf."

Issana shook her head slightly.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Rough night?"

She nodded.

"Who?"

"I don't know. He tried to give me skooma. Got dragged off by someone named Mjoll."

Snilf laughed and clapped his hands together. "Serves him right. She's all right, that Mjoll. Thinks she can fix this place, so maybe not all right in the head, but she looks out for us beggars, and that's enough for me."

Issana took a timid step towards him. Snilf shifted over to allow her space on his box. "Hungry?" he said.

"Starving."

"Not yet you're not," said Snilf. "But I'll tell you what, that dark elf over there with the vegetable cart, I can't get near it. She's caught me trying to pinch carrots out of there too many times. But if I distract her, you could grab enough for both of us."

"Steal?" said Issana.

"Eat," Snilf replied flatly. "You want to eat, don't you?"

Issana nodded.

"Then you'll have to get used to taking what you can. Besides, haven't you had a hard enough life already? Don't you think the world owes you, just a little bit?"

Issana was quiet for a moment as rain poured down on them. "Maybe."

Snilf smiled. "Good. I'll wander over there and old Marise will come right after me. All you have to do is grab something when she's not looking."

"I can do that."

Snilf rose and offered his hand to pull Issana upright. "Good luck." He sauntered off into full view of the dark elf. "Ho there, Marise!" he said.

"Off with you, Snilf, or I'll call the guards." Marise took a step towards him.

Issana walked in a wide circle, coming up beside the building Marise had set her cart beside. As the elf pointed Snilf away, Issana reached into the cart and grabbed a handful of carrots and a cabbage. Snilf caught her eye and raised his hands defensively at Marise. "All right, all right," he said. "I'm going." Issana walked quickly out of sight around the building and Snilf caught up with her shortly after. "Well done," he said. "My share?" He held out his hand.

Issana passed him a carrot and the cabbage.

"Ugh," he said. "Raw cabbage. You have the cabbage. I'll have two carrots."

Issana passed him a carrot instead. "What's a good place to eat?"

"Eh, stay in one place too long and the guards get fussy. Walking is best." He bit off an end of a carrot. "You'll do fine, girl. Once you get used to being a little hungry when you go to sleep, you'll-"

Three men stepped out from an alley, blocking the road. Their clothes were tattered and they were just as gaunt as Snilf. Snilf froze.

"Whatcha got there, Snilf?" said one of the men. "Fresh vegetables? Been pestering old Marise again?"

"Leave me alone," Snilf said. "I gotta eat too, you know. If I die of starvation, who'll you have to push around?"

"And who's this?" said another man, pointing at Issana. Issana could smell the alcohol on his breath from where she stood. "Gotcher self a ladyfriend? Mebbe you wanna share?"

Issana took a step backwards. Snilf whispered out the side of his mouth, "Run."

Issana needed no second urging. She spun and took off down the road. She turned at the first corner, then turned again, and again, and before she'd gone a minute she realized she had no idea where she was.

Snilf rounded a corner just after her and nearly ran her over. He bent low, hands on his knees, gasping. "I think… I think we lost them. Say, can I… Can I have your carrot? I threw mine at one of them."

Issana sank against the rain-slicked wall, chest heaving from the sudden sprint. She handed Snilf the carrot. Snilf smiled appreciatively and took a bite. "Sorry to leave you with the cabbage," he said.

Issana shrugged. "Better than nothing." She brushed some muddy water off the vegetable and bit deep. It was bitter, but it still wasn't as bad as some of the slop they'd been served at Honorhall. And at least it was food. "So this is life here?" she said. "Stealing food and getting chased?"

Snilf opened his arms and let the rain splash over him. "Welcome to Riften."


	4. Iron Bars

The rain finally abated around midnight, but in its absence a thick, heavy fog settled in over the city. Issana could see nothing beyond a few feet in front of her. On the other hand, it meant no one could see her, either.

She settled deeper into the darkness at the base of a stone wall. It was still cold, but at least it wasn't raining. She pulled her knees to her chest to stay warm and felt last night's wakefulness finally beginning to overtake her. Her eyes flickered.

She awoke to a damp, gloomy light in the eastern sky. The sun was hardly reaching through the dark clouds and fog. Issana shivered and felt aches blooming throughout her body from her uncomfortable sleep. But at least she'd slept, even it was only for a few hours.

Snilf was long gone. He'd said the day before that two beggars sleeping in the same area would only bring suspicious guards down on them, or worse. So Issana was on her own.

So far, though, it was going all right.

She got up slowly, wincing as the aches in her body spread. Her dress now smelled distinctly of wet cloth and clung icily to her skin. She felt an even stronger hunger than yesterday, coupled with a painfully dry throat. There was a stream of water running down the stone wall, so she cupped her hands beneath it and drank.

Food would be a more difficult task.

Once she had drunk her fill, she did her best to wring the water out of her dress. It did little. Her shoes were so ratty and waterlogged that she kicked them off and left them behind as she set out towards the market. They'd been rubbing her feet raw anyway.

The marketplace was far busier than yesterday. Even in the cheerless light of the morning, brightly coloured awnings stood gaily over stalls and carts as merchants began to lay out their wares. There were fruitiers, fishmongers, jewelers, farmers, alchemists; everything she could think of was there. Someone even had a dancing bear.

She wandered the awakening market for about an hour, peering cautiously into stalls to see what interesting things the merchants had to sell. Other patrons began to appear in the marketplace too, from richly dressed nobles to labourers dressed not much better than her. Within half an hour the market was in full swing, with merchants calling out their wares to passers-by.

"Imported goods from Morrowind!"

"Vegetables! Vegetables as crisp as a winter's morning!"

"Jewelry with legendary Argonian craftsmanship!"

Issana turned towards the last voice and saw a green-scaled Argonian leaning on his stand, not far away. The lizard-like man gestured to his display of necklaces and rings. "Greetings, honoured friend," he rasped. "Can I interest you in some fine jewelry?"

Issana stepped cautiously forward and looked at the gleaming treasures. Silver and gold set with all manner of precious stones glittered faintly in the dim light of the morning. "I wish," she replied quietly.

"Perhaps another day, land-strider," the Argonian replied with a smile that Issana thought was meant to be friendly, but with all those pointed teeth it looked anything but.

Issana shrugged. "I doubt it."

The market had distracted her from her hunger for a few hours, but now it was growing unbearable. She hadn't seen Snilf anywhere. Just a couple of carrots, she thought. _No one will miss them. I can do it myself._

She started walking back through the crowded marketplace, threading her way cautiously between Riften's citizens.

"Ugh," said a voice. "What is that smell? It's like wet dog and - oh."

Issana froze as she felt someone's eyes on her. She looked up and saw a woman in rich clothes staring down at her. "Shoo, girl. Change your clothes or something. You stink of mud."

A heavily armoured man loomed up beside her. "Shall I get rid of her for you, Lady Maven?"

The woman shook her head. "Don't bother. I have other things to do."

Issana ducked away into the crowd and slipped quietly through it until she came to where she'd found Snilf the day before, across the road from Marise's vegetable cart. The dark elf woman stood waving some cabbages at passing men and women.

Issana darted across the road and waited until Marise was looking the other way. She crept towards the cart and reached in for a carrot or two.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. "I don't think so."

Issana turned and found herself staring into the darkened eye-slits of a guard's helmet. "No, I-" she began, but the guard seized her by the wrist. "A night in Riften jail will teach you a lesson about thieving, girl." He tugged hard and Issana was pulled after him. She wriggled in his grip, trying to free her hand, but he only squeezed tighter. "If you struggle, I'll have you in there for two nights."

Issana stopped fighting the guard's grip. "How's locking me up going to help?" she snapped. "I'll just be hungrier when I get out, and I'll still have no money. You're just going to force me to steal again."

The guard turned his helmeted face towards her. "Would you rather be hanged?"

Issana's momentary sense of rage evaporated. "No."

"Then don't let me catch you stealing again."

"That would be the idea…"

The guard ignored her and dragged her after him again. They left the marketplace quickly and entered Riften's dirty, wet streets. After several minutes through winding alleys, Issana looked up the road and saw the looming shape of Mistveil Keep, Riften's main fort, a walled, sturdy stone building without much adornment. The guard turned right as they entered the gateway, dragging Issana around the keep's base. A dark wooden door was set in the stonework and the guard pushed it open.

It was dark inside, lit only by a few flickering torches. Another guard sat at a chair in the entrance, some bread and meat spread out on a table. Issana's stomach growled loudly at the sight.

"What've you got there?" said the other guard.

"Thief. Caught her stealing vegetables out of one of the merchants' carts."

"Good. Keep those thieves in the jail where the damned Guild can't get their hands on them."

"Guild?" Issana echoed. "What guild? I don't know what you're-"

"That's enough out of you," the first guard cut in. "Take her down." The second guard rose and grabbed her by the other wrist as the first guard let go. He pulled her down a short flight of steps and into a long hall with iron-barred doors set at intervals along the side. He fished a keyring off his belt, opened one of the doors and hurled her in. The door swung shut with a clang.

The guard rapped his gauntlet on the bars. "Mind you don't cause any trouble down here, thief. I'd hate to have to give you a bruise on your other cheek." He strode away.

Issana watched him go before glancing around her cell. It was small, maybe six feet across and ten feet long. A pile of hay sat in one corner, but that seemed to be where the most putrid smell in the room was emanating from so she stayed away. A large rat poked its head out from beneath it and stared at her for a moment before disappearing again.

Issana felt a painful rumble in her stomach. She sat down against the cold stone wall and hugged her knees, letting her head sink so her forehead could rest against them. And she began to cry.

"Well, well," purred a voice from the cell opposite her. "Would you look who it is."

Issana hastily wiped her face on her damp dress. She peered through her bars. Across the hall, the man from her first night on the streets, the one with the skooma, stared back at her. He leered with broken teeth. "You're lucky these bars are here," he said. "Turning me down, getting me tossed in here. You'll pay for that."

Issana ducked away from the door and sat where he couldn't see her. It didn't stop his voice from carrying, however. "You can't hide. I know you're there. Just you wait, girl."

"That's enough!" bellowed the guard from up the stairs. "I hear one more word out of you, skooma-breath, and I'll knock a few more of your teeth out."

"You'd have to open the door to do that," the man jeered. "Let's see what happens!"

The noise of a chair skidding on the stone floor echoed through the jail. A moment later the guard stormed into the hall. Issana glanced out of her cell as the guard inserted a key into the skooma-dealer's door and swung it open. Two wet thuds sounded and two agonized yelps before the clang of the door signalled that the guard was finished. Issana saw him disappear up the stairs again and heard the other prisoner spit something out.

Issana shrank nervously against the stone wall and let her head sink forward again. Sleep would let her forget her hunger, for a little while at least.

Hopefully.

She really had no idea.


	5. Rings and Pockets

Issana awoke to a pounding headache. Her mouth felt dry as sawdust as she slowly edged towards the bars. "Please," she said, her voice hoarse, "is anyone out there? Could I have some water?"

From the stairs Issana heard the clink of mail as a guard entered the jail. He pulled a ring of keys off his belt and opened her door. "Get it yourself, thief. Your sentence is up." He grabbed her roughly by the dress and hauled her back up the steps. With his free hand he opened the door to the town and tossed her out.

Issana hit the ground hard and the impact sent a flash of pain through her throbbing head. The light was blinding after a day in the dim prison, forcing her to shield her eyes with her hands.

"Clear off!" the guard called after her. "And don't let us catch you stealing anything again!"

Issana pressed one hand to her head in an effort to stop the pounding, but it did little. She staggered like a drunk out of the keep's gateway, back into Riften's dirty streets.

_Water. I need water._ She steadied herself on a grimy wall. If she headed to the marketplace, she could get some water out of the canals. She stepped away from the wall and headed into the town.

The market was busy again, full of people taking advantage of the fleeting good weather. Issana stepped cautiously out from the shadow of an alleyway and looked around for a way down to the canals. It was hard to tell amidst the throng of people. At last she spied the wooden railing of a staircase that led off of the market's central island, down towards the water below. She made for it, ducking around fancily dressed shoppers.

The stairs were clear of people, so Issana reached the bottom without trouble. The canal ran in a big circle around the central island, and beside it a stone walkway jutted out from the wall. A few beggars glanced up at her from the ground. One spat into the canal. "Whatcha want down here, girl?"

"I need water."

The beggars guffawed loudly. "Well, don't be drinking outta the canal," said one. "'Less you don't mind the piss o' the rich mixed in."

Issana grimaced with distaste. "Ugh. Where do you get water?"

"The lake, outside the city gates." The beggar brushed matted hair out of his face and spat into the water again.

Issana glanced past them at a wooden door set in the wall. "What's through there?"

The beggar looked confused and glanced over his shoulder. "Oh. I wouldn't be going in there if I were you, lady. The Ratway's not a place for little girls."

"Why? What's inside?"

The beggar shrugged. "Thieves. Skooma addicts. People who'd cut your throat for a single coin."

Issana sat down on the rickety steps. "Why are you down here, then?"

The beggar flicked a pebble into the canal. "'Cause we got chased away from up there. Get used to it, kid. No one wants us around."

Issana rested her chin in her hands. "I know what you mean."

"Take my advice," said the beggar. "Keep your head down and stay outta trouble. Too many people gettin' killed in their sleep lately."

"I'll be careful."

The man shrugged. "Hey, no need to convince me. Just givin' you a tip."

Issana stood up. "Thank you." She turned and started climbing back up the stairs. Halfway up she called back, "How do I get to the gate?"

The beggar glanced up at her and pointed. "Across the market and follow the main road. It's not far."

As Issana reached ground level, the wave of noise she'd left behind washed over her again. Merchants were shouting, shoppers were haggling, and it seemed that just about everyone had something to yell about. Issana stepped carefully through the crowd, weaving left and right to avoid being knocked over. It was like nothing she'd ever seen.

Finally the crowd thinned, until there were only maybe a dozen people in her way, all crowding around a stand covered with bottles of various shapes and colours. A red-headed, middle-aged man held a green bottle out to the onlookers, waving it enthusiastically. "Yes, that's right, ladies and gentlemen. Essence of Spriggan! It'll make your hair grow back as fast as the grass in spring! Only fifteen Septims!"

In front of Issana, a burly farmer leaned towards a woman. "Another one of Brynjolf's miracle potions. How stupid does he think we are?"

A fat, bald man stepped forward towards the merchant. "I'll take some." He held out a pouch of coins.

The farmer snorted and turned to leave. The crowd began to disperse and Issana quickly made her way out of the marketplace.

"Running a little light in the pockets, lass?"

Issana turned around and saw the red-haired merchant smiling at her.

Issana glanced down at the ground. "You could say that."

The man grabbed a loaf of bread and a bottle of ale from his stand and held it out to her. "Here."

Issana's stomach twisted painfully. She took one step forward, then another, stopping just out of arm's reach. The man beckoned her with the loaf. "I'm not going to hurt you, lass. My name is Brynjolf. I know what it's like to be in your shoes." He glanced down at her bare feet. "Or lack of them."

"What do you want?" Issana grabbed the bread from him and darted out of reach again. She took a huge bite of the bread. It was stale, but in her half-starved state it was like the finest feast any jarl had ever tasted. She tore into it ravenously, then grabbed the ale and downed it in seconds.

"As it happens, I've got a little errand to perform," said Brynjolf. "But I could use an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid."

Issana stopped eating and eyed Brynjolf warily. "What sort of errand?"

"Oh, don't worry your pretty head there, lass. It's nothing dangerous. Simple, really. All you have to do is steal something. Something expensive-"

Issana choked on the bread and spat it out. "Seriously? I'm out of jail for less than an hour and you're asking me to steal for you?" Several people turned their heads towards her in surprise. She glanced away quickly.

Brynjolf raised his hands defensively and waited until people had stopped staring. "Sorry, lass. I usually have a better eye for these things." He stepped back behind his stand.

Issana hesitated. "How 'well-paid' do you mean?"

A triumphant smile spread across Brynjolf's face as he turned back to face her. "Depends how well you pull it off. And believe me, once you've got a taste for it, there's plenty more."

Issana took another bite of bread. "Suppose I was interested. What would I be expected to steal?"

"Something expensive. The argonian on the north-western edge of the market, Madesi, has some very fine jewelry just waiting to be grabbed."

Issana scowled at him. "So once I have something, I just give it to you?"

Brynjolf shook his head. "No. Did you see Brand-Shei across the market? The dark elf selling goods from Morrowind? Put the ring in his pocket without being noticed."

"Why?"

"Let's just say that there's someone who wants to see him put out of business. Permanently. Just so he remembers not to meddle in affairs that aren't his own."

"So I get paid, but Brand-Shei ends up in jail?"

Brynjolf shrugged. "That's the way it works around here, lass. Better him than you, isn't it? Don't you want to eat?"

Issana felt her stomach growl again, but she frowned. "If I could steal it myself, why bother listening to you? Why not just sell it?"

"What do you think the guards would do if they saw a girl like you selling jewelry?"

Issana was quiet for a long while. "All right," she said at last. "I'll do it."

Brynjolf smiled. "Good lass. Don't get caught."

Issana strode back into the crowd and made her way across the market. It didn't take long to spot the argonian; she recognized him from the day before. There were three or four people standing at the stall, admiring the jewelry. Issana didn't give herself time to think twice. She marched quickly towards the stand and, once she was only a few feet behind the patrons, tripped and went sprawling. Her outstretched arms knocked one of the onlookers straight into the stand and sent fine jewelry scattering onto the ground. Issana lay there, feigning a daze as the argonian scrambled around in a panic to recover his goods.

She rolled off her hapless target and started apologizing profusely. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry! By the Divines, how could I have been so clumsy?" She sprang forwards to help, picking up a necklace set with a bright green gem and handing it to the argonian, who grabbed it from her. "Please, I can do this myself."

"No, no," said Issana. "I insist." She grabbed a handful of rings and dropped them into his outstretched hand, save one. She slipped it into her sleeve.

"Please, just let me do it," said the argonian. He brushed her away with a scaled hand.

The man she had knocked over picked himself up and shoved Issana aside with a knee. "You heard him. Away with you, girl."

Issana stood up and looked as embarrassed as she possibly could. "I am so, so sorry. Please, I-"

"Off with you!" the man repeated, waving her away.

Issana didn't hesitate and slipped into the crowd.

The dark elf wasn't very hard to find either. He was leaning on his stall, too busy waving his wares at passers-by to notice Issana coming up behind him. As a woman stopped to look at his goods Issana walked past him and casually dropped the ring into his pocket. Brand-Shei glanced at her irritably as if wondering why she was so close, but he said nothing as Issana faded away into the crowd.

Brynjolf looked impressed when she returned to him. "Well done, lass. My lads already told me what happened. Looks like I chose the right person for the job."

Issana looked down at the ground. "It was… kind of fun, actually."

Brynjolf gave her a roguish smile. "You've got no idea yet, lass. Here you go." He tossed a pouch of coins to her. Her arm dropped from the weight as she caught it. "There's more where that came from," he added. "If you think you can handle it."

Issana hesitated for a moment. Any stealing at the orphanage had always resulted in the offender being beaten and going without supper. To have succeeded-and to be rewarded-it was liberating. "I'm in."

"You can find us in the Ratway, in a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we'll see if you've really got what it takes."

Issana nodded resolutely. "I'll be there."

"I hope so," said Brynjolf. "You've got quite the future ahead of you."


	6. Sewer Rats

The Ratway was pitch-black, dripping, and reeked of sewage. Issana closed the door quietly behind her, eyes straining to see ahead into the darkness. She took a few cautious steps forward, tracing her fingers along the grime-coated wall to keep herself oriented, then stopped to listen. Her breath was shaky and she could almost hear her pulse in the darkness.

Voices.

She could hear them from far ahead, somewhere around a bend, but they were quiet enough that she couldn't make out what was said. She crept down the tunnel and felt the wall beginning to curve. A flickering glow slowly came into view ahead. She crouched down and listened.

"I don't know, Drahff," said a gruff voice. "They'd skin us alive if they knew we were doing this."

"Why are you always acting like such a big baby?" snapped a second voice. "I've gotten us this far, haven't I?"

"This far?" retorted the first voice. "We're living in a sewer. You said we'd have a house as big as the Black-Briars' by now."

"You worry about bashing people's heads in; I'll worry about the Guild." There was a moment of silence before the second voice spoke again. "I'm going to check the entrance. Thought I heard the door."

Issana felt panic rising in her throat as the flickering light moved and started spreading across the wall towards her. The glow fell on an alcove in the tunnel wall, maybe ten feet ahead of her. She dove for it, pressing herself flat against the wall and praying to whatever gods could hear that whoever was coming down the hall wouldn't look too closely.

Wet footsteps began to echo down the passage and the light grew brighter. Issana squeezed even closer to the slimy wall.

A scrawny man with a hunting bow slung across his back walked past with a torch in one hand and rusty dagger in the other.

"Anything?" called the gruff voice.

"Not yet. Probably just one of those damn beggars leaning on the door again."

The man continued on down the tunnel. Issana made sure his back was still turned, then crept from her hiding place and made her way quickly towards the sound of the first voice.

"It's nothing," came the scrawny man's voice from the entrance.

Issana peered around a corner and saw a small chamber, circular, with a tunnel leading off the other side. Blocking her way was a pitiful, makeshift campfire with a larger but still underfed man crouching beside it. His back was to her.

"It's always nothing," he grumbled. He shifted his weight and started turning around. Issana leaped as quietly as she could and landed behind him again. The sound of her feet slapping the stony ground was masked by the crackle of the fire.

The man turned around fully and grabbed a dead rat from a pile. Issana didn't wait for him to make another move before she ran off down the other tunnel.

She slowed once the glow was too far gone to illuminate her path. Her fingers began to trace the wall again, guiding her and making her grimace at the layer of slime. She started to lose track of time. How long had she spent in the darkness? Minutes? Hours? The putrid smell of the tunnels seemed to wax and wane, sometimes almost unnoticeable and other times enough to make her gag.

The wall suddenly disappeared and Issana's hand slipped off it. She stopped dead. It had to be a room, but there was no light at all and she could see nothing.

"Who's there?" whispered a man's voice.

Issana shrank back into the tunnel. She heard the sound of flint striking and saw the orange glow of a small fire come to life. "I hear you," the voice said again. "Come out where I can see you."

Issana crept slowly into the room and edged to the left, away from the entrance. Someone moved on the other side of the fire but it wasn't bright enough to see. "Come closer."

Issana hit a corner and stopped. "I know you're there," the man said. Issana could see his outline more clearly as the fire grew brighter. He was a beast of a man, large and muscled. Issana dared not move, but any moment now the fire would be bright enough to reveal her.

Something large and hairy brushed past her leg and she bit her lip hard to keep her shock contained. A long, thin tail followed, winding against her leg as it passed.

A crash of metal and a squeal shattered the silence from just in front of her. Issana still didn't move and the big man across the room stopped, a disappointed look on his shadowed face. "Just a skeever," he muttered, and strode across the room towards the source of the noise. Issana pressed herself into the corner.

Issana could see the dead animal in the growing firelight now, a large, mangy-looking rat about a foot high, cut nearly in half by a rusty bear trap. The large man hunched over it. "Supper is served." He pulled the bear trap apart with a wet, tearing noise and the shriek of rusty metal. Picking up the two halves of the creature, still dripping, he wandered back towards the fire.

Issana tip-toed across the room, hugging the wall. She reached the adjacent corner and saw the exit tunnel beside the campfire. The man took an iron spit and rammed it through both halves of the skeever, then sat down against the wall. Issana stopped. There was no way she could make it through the tunnel without being spotted.

Her foot bumped something round. If she threw it, it might distract the man long enough for her to slip past. Silently, carefully, she crouched down to pick it up.

It dropped from nerveless hands when her gaze fell on it. Black holes for eyes, toothless, pale grey in the firelight-a skull, cracked and old, staring back at her. It hit the ground with a clatter.

The man looked up and his eyes fell on her. A hungry smile peeled its way across his face. "What a pretty little thing you are," he purred. "Come over here." He rose to his feet.

Issana backed away, her back pressed against the wall. "Stay back," she snarled. But the fierceness in her tone shook with fear. The man took a few long strides and stopped in the centre of the room, blocking her escape down either tunnel. "You can't escape," said the man. "Just come here." He beckoned with a meaty hand.

Issana shook her head, heart pounding. She started inching to the right and the man moved with her, edging closer with each motion.

He lunged. Issana sprang aside and the man's fist grabbed air instead. He came at her again, long legs closing the distance in the blink of an eye. Issana jumped out of the way and had to twist to avoid landing in a bear trap. The man lurched after her, hands scrabbling for her shoulders, gaze fixated hungrily on her, and he looked down just in time to see his right leg plant itself straight in the centre of the trap.

The scream ripped apart the Ratway's dank air. The man collapsed, clutching his shattered leg, writhing against the metal as he tried to free himself. Issana ran. She leaped clean over the fire and down the tunnel at the far end, trying to block out the agonized shrieking, but it was unending, rebounding off the stone walls in a rising and falling howl of pain. Her foot caught a raised stone and she went sprawling, but she shoved herself upright and kept going.

She rounded a torchlit corner at full sprint and slammed headlong into someone she didn't stop to see. The person hit the ground hard and a knife skittered away across the stone. Issana didn't look back. Her run took her into a torchlit, square room with a heavy wooden door set in the wall opposite her. Issana ran for it, shoved it open and slammed it shut behind her. The screaming vanished. She pressed all her weight against the door, chest heaving for air.

When she at last was calm enough to look around, she found herself in an immense chamber. The centre of the room was dominated by a round lake, around which ran a stone walkway and some wooden platforms. Across the water were maybe half a dozen people, some seated at tables, some pacing back and forth. A man leaned on a bar in front of a roaring hearth, filling mugs.

The Ragged Flagon. Issana breathed a sigh of relief and sank down to the ground.

"What do you want?" growled a voice. Issana jumped up, startled, and saw a burly man staring down at her. She hadn't noticed him.

"I-" she stammered. "Brynjolf told me to come here." She tried to stop her voice from shaking. "I met him in the marketplace."

The man snorted. "So you're the one? Don't look like much to me."

Issana laughed breathlessly. "Well, I made it here, didn't I?"

The man shrugged. "He's over there. Stay out of trouble, or there's gonna be trouble." He thumped his fist into his other palm menacingly.

Issana nodded and made her way quickly around the lake. There were five people in all at this end, spread around several tables and the bar. Brynjolf's red-haired face glanced up from the bar and he waved her over. She glanced around warily and then darted over to join him.

"Well, well," he said. "Colour me impressed, lass. I wasn't certain I'd ever see you again!"

Issana looked over her shoulder at the door to the Ratway. "I-there's a man back there. He stepped in his own bear trap; I don't-"

Brynjolf and the barkeeper both burst out laughing. "Stepped in his own trap?" said the barkeeper. "That's almost poetic!"

"But," Issana added, "he's screaming, and-"

The barkeeper snorted. "He'll be skeever-food by now. Those things can smell blood."

Brynjolf must have noticed the horrified look on her face. "Don't fret, lass. The world's a better place without him. You don't want to know what he'd have done if he'd caught you."

Issana swallowed hard. "I… I see."

Brynjolf clapped a hand on her shoulder. "But you made it! And that's what matters. Welcome to the Guild, lass." He hopped off his stool. "Come, I'll introduce you to our friends here."

Issana clambered off her stool as Brynjolf gestured to the barkeeper. "That's Vekel. Keeps the bar."

Vekel looked her up and down. "You're Brynjolf's new protege? You don't look like much to me."

Brynjolf shrugged. "Neither did any of us when we started."

"Right, and look where we are now," Vekel snorted. "Running a bar in the sewer with hardly a single contract between the lot of us."

Brynjolf steered Issana away with his arm. "He's always like that, lass; don't worry. Here, Vex, meet our newest recruit."

A blonde-haired woman glanced up at Issana from her table. She said nothing and returned to her meal. Brynjolf chuckled. "She's not exactly the friendliest around here."

A bald, middle-aged man looked over at them from where he stood leaning against a crate. Brynjolf met his gaze and drew Issana towards him. The man proffered his hand. "Delvin Mallory. Let me guess, Brynjolf plucked you off the street and dropped you into the thick of things without telling you which way is up. Am I right?"

Issana nodded. "Something like that."

"Well, after you're done with him, come talk to me and I may have some work for you."

"Work?" Issana said. "What sort of work?"

Delvin laughed. "Eager little one, aren't you? I'll tell you later, once you're settled in."

Brynjolf gestured to a short, dark-skinned woman seated near the water's edge. "That's Tonilia, and Dirge is across the lake."

"I met him already," Issana said. "Dirge? Is that really his name?"

Brynjolf gave her a roguish smile. "Why don't you go ask him?"

"So is that it? Just six of you?" She glanced around. "Sorry, but I was expecting… more."

"Well, no," said Brynjolf, "that's not everything, but I can't be giving you all our secrets yet, can I, lass?"

Issana sat down at a free table. "What do I have to do?"

Brynjolf dropped into the chair opposite her. "Vekel wasn't far wrong when he said we hardly have any contracts. We need to start making people take us seriously again."

"How?"

"This is where you get to prove your worth. See, there's a few people that owe us some serious coin and they've decided not to pay. I want you to… explain to them the error of their ways."

Issana raised an eyebrow. "So I'm a thug."

"No, nothing like that. I might have faith in you, lass, but the others, well, you saw Vex's reaction, and Vekel's. They need to know you're tough. That you can handle yourself. You can get back to picking pockets and getting rich after they know you're a strong lass."

Issana leaned back in her chair. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly big enough to beat money out of people."

Brynjolf leaned forward, a knowing look on his face. "Ah, and that's exactly it, lass. You can get this job done without being a brute about it. Everyone's got a weak spot. All you have to do is find it. Think you can manage that?"

Issana nodded. "Doesn't sound too hard. Who are these people?"

"There are three," Brynjolf said, holding up three fingers. "Keerava, she's the argonian innkeeper over at the Bee and Barb. Bersi Honey-hand, he owns the Pawned Prawn on the edge of town. And lastly Haelga, owner of the ever classy establishment Haelga's Bunkhouse. Oh, the rumours coming out of that place, lass."

Issana counted them out on her fingers. "Keerava, Bersi, Haelga. Got it."

Brynjolf smiled. "Do this right, lass, and I can promise you a permanent place in our organization."

"Any tips?"

"Honestly, the debt is secondary here," Brynjolf replied. "What's more important is that you get the message across that we aren't to be ignored."

"Sounds easy enough. What do we know about the targets?"

Brynjolf laughed. "If I didn't know better, lass, I'd think you were excited."

Issana folded her arms and glared at him. "If this is what I have to do to survive in this city, I might as well enjoy it."

"Spoken like one of us," Brynjolf said. "But regarding the targets, I'd suggest you have a look around. Listen in on them for a bit. Who knows what you'll learn?"

"I'll see what I can find out." Issana pulled out a few coins. "But first, I want some food. And something strong to drink. Vekel!" she called out, rising from the table. "What've you got?"

Behind her, she heard Brynjolf laughing. "Aye, lass. I think you'll fit in here just fine."


	7. Rebirth

Issana strode confidently through the gates of Riften. She was clad in clean clothes, bought with the money she'd earned from Brynjolf, and she'd bathed in the lake outside the city walls. Her stomach was full, thirst quenched, and as she stepped into the crowded streets of the city, she felt new. Gone was the beaten girl from the orphanage, the girl who had cowered in the rain. _No,_ she thought, _my life is my own now. I'll make it what I want._

It was a strange feeling. The clothes she'd chosen, sturdy trousers and a form-fitting leather jerkin, made her look more like a well-off traveler than an orphan girl. It seemed people were actually willing to stop and talk to her when she asked for directions. She'd even tidied up her hair into a neat braid. She hardly recognized herself.

The Bunkhouse was first on her list. It was nearest this end of the city, and from the directions she'd gathered it wasn't hard to find. She gave the building a quick look-over. It was a sizeable, two-storey structure, with warm light shining through the windows. Issana walked up to the door and pushed it open.

A young woman, maybe five or ten years Issana's elder, hurried about with a broom. She rushed to sweep one last pile of dust into the corner before straightening up and brushing herself off. "I'm so sorry about the mess. My name is Svana. Can I help you?"

Issana glanced around. "It doesn't look that messy to me."

Svana gave a bitter laugh. "Me neither. But to Haelga, well…"

"You work here?"

"Work?" scoffed Svana. "If you can call it that. I call it slavery."

"Oh?" said Issana. "How so?"

"I work my fingers to the bone keeping this place clean!" said Svana. "Ever since my parents died and Haelga took me in it's been a nightmare!"

"She's that horrible?" _I bet Grelod is worse._

"I'm stuck living here, working as hard as I can, while those pigs she calls customers grope me and say the most repulsive things to me. She's disgusting."

Issana leaned back against the doorframe. "Don't suppose you'd like to see her brought down a notch, would you?"

Svana was taken aback. "How?"

Issana pushed herself casually off the doorframe and glanced thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "Well, let's just say that she owes someone a good deal of money and I need to convince her to pay up. Willingly. If she had a weakness, something that could-"

"Statue!" Svana blurted out. "Sorry, uh, the statue of Dibella. Haelga worships the disgusting thing."

"Dibella?" Issana asked.

Svana snorted. "One of the Divines. Goddess of beauty, love, and…" She trailed off.

Issana raised her eyebrows. "Ah." _So that's what Brynjolf meant by 'rumours'._ "Where is it?"

Svana gestured with her head towards a bronze statue in the corner. It was maybe two feet high, depicting a mostly nude woman holding a large flower. "Thanks," Issana said. "Where is Haelga?"

Svana picked up her broom again. "She should be back at any moment. Just…" She hesitated. "Don't tell her I said anything."

"I won't." Issana strode over to the statue and tucked it behind her back. As if on cue, the door swung open. A tall, attractive blonde woman entered, probably thirty or thirty-five years old. "Svana!" she snapped. "Are you done? Why are you just standing around?" She looked around, a disgusted look on her face, and her gaze fell on Issana. "What do you want?"

Issana kept the statue from view. "Outstanding debts."

Haelga sneered, folding her arms. "And they send a girl to collect it? Your Guild must really be getting desperate. The money would be better spent by dumping it down a well."

Issana smiled faintly. "Down a well? Maybe, if you want this to join it." She held the statue out in front of her and started tossing it to herself.

Haelga's cold eyes widened. "No, please! I-don't take it! It's-"

"Precious to you? I know. The money, if you'd be so kind."

Haelga nodded vigorously. "I'll fetch it! Please, just… wait there." She darted past Issana and fled upstairs. Issana positioned herself by the door. Haelga could call the guards from a window, but in that case Issana would be gone with the statue before anyone could react. Haelga didn't seem that stupid.

Sure enough, Haelga came tearing down the stairs again a moment later. "Here," she said, and threw a sizeable pouch of coins towards her. Issana caught it and peered inside. It seemed correct. She threw the statue carelessly at Haelga, who jumped for it and cradled it like a baby. "Now get out," Haelga snarled. "I hope you choke on it."

Issana bowed mockingly and left.

She tucked the money into her belt where she could keep an eye on it and headed to the marketplace. Brynjolf was there, as ever, hawking miracle potions at bystanders. Issana tossed him the coins casually as she passed. "One down."

Brynjolf caught the pouch, a surprised look on his face. "You're quick, lass."

"I'll be back with more."

The Bee and Barb Inn looked onto the market square. Issana, confidence blazing from success, strode up to the door and shoved it open.

Her confidence waned somewhat when she saw the sheer number of people in the inn. There were traders, laborers, fishermen, mercenaries, every type of person she could think of. Keerava, the argonian innkeeper, stood behind the bar, filling drinks and laying food on plates as fast as she could.

Issana frowned. It was going to be difficult to get the argonian alone enough to work the money out of her.

"Welcome to the Bee and Bard, milady," said a raspy voice beside her. Issana jumped. A second argonian, scales a dark, swampy green, stood smiling at her. "If I can interest you in one of our special drinks, you let me know."

Issana glanced at Keerava for a moment. "What do you have?"

"Well, first is the 'Velvet Lachance, which is-"

"Actually, I don't care," Issana cut in. "I'm here about her debt."

The argonian's yellow eyes widened briefly. "Now, let's not do anything rash." He stepped close to her. "Look, I'm only telling you this because I care about her and don't want her to get into a war with your people."

"I'm listening."

"Keerava, well, she…" The argonian looked around nervously.

"Out with it."

"She has family in Morrowind. If you mention you know about it, I think she'll listen to you. Just…" He glanced over at her, guilt clearly evident on his scaled face. "Please don't hurt anyone."

Issana ignored him and strode over to the bar, shouldering her way through the inn's patrons. She pushed her way to the bar. "Keerava."

The innkeeper looked up, startled. "Sorry, I'm a bit busy right now."

"Keerava, I'd suggest you pay attention to me."

The innkeeper finished pouring a mug of ale and stalked over to her. "Or what?"

"I'm here to collect your debt."

Keerava laughed. "Really? You? Get out of my inn."

"I wouldn't take that tone with me, argonian." She dropped her voice to a hiss. "Not when the guild knows about Morrowind."

Keerava sprang back. "How could you possibly know-" She shook her head. "No, I'll… I'll pay." She ducked beneath the bar and pulled out a hefty bag. "There. Take it. There's more in there than I owe. Just leave us alone."

Issana grabbed the bag. "Thank you."

When she reached the door, the other argonian shot her a venomous glare. "I hope we never see you again, sewer rat."

"I hope so too," said Issana, opening the door and stepping back into Riften.

The Pawned Prawn was a bit of a walk from the marketplace. Issana breathed deeply, savouring the air and ignoring the stench of fish that permeated this section of the city. She was free. Free of Grelod, free of fear, free to hammer out her own destiny in whatever way she saw fit. _The world took enough from me. My parents, the first sixteen years of my life, my worth. It owes me._

The Pawned Prawn wasn't much more than a sturdy shack, built of heavy logs but undecorated. Issana entered and had to wipe her hand on her trousers to get the door handle's rust and slime off. Bersi, or at least, she assumed it was Bersi, lounged in a chair behind a counter upon which was spread the most random assortment of goods Issana had ever seen. There were precious stones, daggers, fruit, spools of thread, even some armour. Bersi leaped up as she entered. "You!"

Issana glanced around to make sure he wasn't talking to someone else. "Me?"

Bersi immediately produced a bag of coins from below his counter. "Here, take it! I've already heard what happened to Haelga. Just leave me alone!"

Issana's brow furrowed in confusion, but she took the money anyway. "Appreciated." She backed out of the shop slowly, still processing what had happened. Eventually she just shook her head and ignored it.

Brynjolf was beaming when she tossed him the third and final pouch. "Well done, lass! I think we can pack up shop for today." He dumped his potions unceremoniously into a sack and slung them over his shoulder. "If you'll follow me, I've got something to show you."

He led her out of the marketplace and down a curving street. Issana followed close behind him. After a while, Brynjolf pointed to an immense, richly decorated home to their left. "If you ever get the urge for burglary, do not, and I mean _never_, break into that house."

"Why?"

"Because that's Black-Briar Manor, home to Lady Maven Black-Briar. We have, shall we say, an agreement with her."

"What sort of agreement?"

Brynjolf laughed. "The sort where she's the real power in Riften, and once in awhile she has us do some work for her."

"Ah. So Brand-Shei…"

"Exactly." Brynjolf clapped her on the shoulder. "You're picking things up quickly. Ah!" he exclaimed as they rounded a corner. "Here we are."

Issana looked around. "A graveyard?"

"Follow me." Brynjolf crossed the graveyard quickly to where a long sarcophagus lay inside a low, stone sepulchre.

"This isn't your way of foreshadowing my eventual murder, is it?" Issana said.

Brynjolf looked around quickly, then crouched down. "Not at all." He reached out and pressed a diamond-shaped carving on the sarcophagus.

With the grating noise of stone on stone, the sarcophagus slid backwards into the rear of the sepulchre. Beneath it, a narrow tunnel led down into the earth. He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Welcome to the real heart of the Thieves Guild, lass" he said, and stepped into the tunnel.


	8. Among Thieves

The 'real heart of the Thieves' Guild' wasn't much more impressive than the Ragged Flagon. It was a big, mostly empty cistern, with a shallow pool in the centre and a scattering of rooms coming off like spokes of a wheel. On the raised stonework that encircled the pool were set rickety beds, workbenches, shelves, and a few storage chests and crates. The pool's centre had a stone platform connected to the outer ring by four opposing stone bridges, and about half a dozen people milled about the room.

Issana saw it all as she jumped the last few rungs of the ladder. Brynjolf gestured around the room. "This is where the real planning gets done."

"So all your big heists, all that gets laid out here?"

"Wouldn't do for someone to overhear us in the Ragged Flagon, would it?"

"Not really, no."

Brynjolf pointed at the various people in the cistern. "I'd suggest you get to know your new colleagues. Find out who you get on with, and whose way you need to stay out of. Some of them might be willing to give you a few tips, too."

Across the cistern, a long-haired man stood behind a table, poring over a thick book. Brynjolf pointed at him. "And that's Mercer Frey, head of the Guild. Don't bother him unless you absolutely have to, lass. Trust me on that."

"Got it."

Brynjolf started walking away. "Door to the Ragged Flagon is through this passage here. I'll be there if you need anything. In the meantime, make yourself at home."

Issana glanced around the room again. Well, there was only one way to start. She strode towards the collection of beds and stopped at the nearest one. A well-muscled bosmer sat polishing a bow on the adjacent bed. "So you're the new recruit?"

Issana nodded. "This bed taken?"

"Take the third one in from the other end. Nobody's claimed it."

"Thanks."

The elf inclined his head. "You're welcome. Niruin."

"Issana."

Niruin pointed towards the bed he'd mentioned. "Go and pile your things on it, mark it out as yours. That's how it works around here."

"Thanks again."

Issana crossed the line of beds and stopped at the third one from the end. _I don't exactly have stuff to pile…_ She shrugged and unhitched the pouches from her belt, throwing them onto the bed.

"I wouldn't take that bed, if I were you."

Issana looked over her shoulder and saw a short, stocky man about five years her elder watching her with arms folded. "Why not?"

"It's Sapphire's. If she catches you in it, she'll gut you and leave your body in the Ratway."

Issana hastily gathered up the pouches. "Vipir said it wasn't taken."

The man rolled his eyes. "I'll be right back. Oi! Vipir! What sorta game are you playing? Trying to get the kid killed?"

Vipir looked lazily over his shoulder at him. "Oh, come on, Rune. I was just having a bit of fun."

"Right, Sapphire's tons of fun."

Issana leaned around him and looked back and forth between them. "Uh, who's Sapphire?"

"Unpleasant woman," said Rune. "Damn good at cutting purses, but sometimes she's a bit too excited about cutting other things."

Issana pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'll keep that in mind."

"The one beside Sapphire's is free," said Rune.

"Oh, good," Issana said. "So I get to sleep next to a cutthroat. Maybe Brynjolf really was foreshadowing my murder when he took me through the graveyard."

Rune laughed loudly. "I like you, kid. I'll look out for you."

Issana sat down on the free bed. "Anything else I should know?"

Rune sat down beside her. "Well, me and Niruin you've already met. Vipir's out on a job. Cynric is cityside, probably picking locks for fun. He's a bit twitchy when he doesn't have something to occupy his hands."

The sound of heavy footsteps caused Issana to look round. A well-muscled man with red paint streaking his face towered over her. Rune glanced up at him briefly. "And that's Thrynn."

"I'm the muscle here," Thrynn growled.

"I can see that," said Issana, looking him up and down. "You and Dirge would be like two mammoths butting heads."

"I-" Thrynn hesitated. "I'm going to assume that was a compliment. Better for you."

"It was, actually. Sort of." Issana let out a good, long laugh. "Didn't mean any harm by it." She flopped back on the bed. "It feels good to laugh. I haven't had any reason to in a very long time."

Rune nodded in agreement. "We're all a bit like that. Outcasts. But we've got a family here."

"Ugh," Vipir grunted. "If you try and hug anyone again, I'm leaving the Guild permanently."

Issana sat up. "So your name's Rune, huh? Like the letters?"

"Like the letters," Rune answered.

"Want to tell me why?"

Rune shrugged. "My father told me he found me in the wreckage of a ship that sank near Solitude. All I had in my pockets was this stone." From his belt he produced a tiny, smooth rock inscribed with runes. "Guess it stuck."

Issana reached for it. "Can I see?"

Rune dropped it into her hand.

"What does it say?" said Issana, staring at the stone.

"I don't know," Rune said. "No one does. I must have spent every last coin I've made with the Guild trying to find out what it means. I've even taken the damn thing to the College of Winterhold." He swiped the stone out of her hand and tucked it back into his pouch.

"I never knew my parents either," said Issana after a long pause.

Vipir rose from his seat. "That's it, I'm leaving." He stalked off towards the Ragged Flagon.

"I'm with you," Thrynn added, lumbering after him.

"Left at Honorhall?" Rune asked.

Issana nodded.

"Well, if there's one thing I've learned here, it's that it doesn't matter who you were. This place is about starting a new life, not trying to fix or find an old one."

"Starting fresh," Issana said, almost reverently. "I do like the sound of that."

"So do we all," replied Rune. "That's the reason we're all here."


	9. Burglary

"I have an idea."

Issana was leaning back against the bar beside Brynjolf, who was seated and sipping ale. He took a swig. "What sort of idea, lass?"

"When I was out collecting those debts, I spotted an alchemist's shop down by the canals. I listened in for a bit, and it seems like some of the ingredients sell for quite a bit of money."

"Certain ones do, yes," said Brynjolf. "Go on."

Issana flipped some coins onto the bar and poured herself a glass of wine. "Well, leaves and seeds and all that, they're small. We could carry off quite a bit in one trip."

"We could," Brynjolf agreed. "But we don't exactly have much use for alchemical ingredients down here. No one around here knows how to make potions."

Issana nodded. "But suppose a merchant happened to arrive in town, selling ingredients. We'd need to buy a few of the cheaper variety to have a wide enough selection, but I think-"

Brynjolf leaped up. "Lass, you're brilliant. We set someone up as a fake trader, arriving in town a week later with all the supplies. The alchemist will need to replenish his supplies; he'd have to buy from us."

"And since it's all already preserved," added Issana, "we can wait long enough to avoid suspicion. But you know what the best part is?"

"What's that?"

Issana smiled. "Nobody expects an alchemy shop to get hit. The jewelers, they've got their stores locked up tight. But an alchemist…"

Brynjolf looked at her with wonder in his eyes. "Lass, I knew I'd found something great when I saw you in the market. Come on, I've already got a team in mind." He hurried over to where Vex lounged with her feet up on a table. "Vex, our little thief has got a plan. I think you'll want in."

Issana quickly outlined the plan to her. Vex fiddled with a lockpick, twirling it between her fingers. "Could work," she said at last. "And I'm always up for a bit of burglary."

"We'll have Cynric pose as the merchant," said Brynjolf. "That man can talk his way through anything."

"Sounds good," Vex said, still spinning the lockpick.

"And Issana can go with you."

The lockpick stopped dead. Vex didn't look up. "I work alone."

Brynjolf sat down across from her. "It's an easy heist, and she'll learn a lot."

"Teach it to her yourself."

"Oh, come on, Vex. You're the best and you know it."

Issana folded her arms. "I want in."

Vex put the lockpick down slowly. "I don't babysit."

"No one's asking you to," said Issana. "I can handle myself."

Vex said nothing for a long while, until at last she tucked the lockpick into her belt and looked at Brynjolf. "All right. Consider it done."

Brynjolf clapped his hands together. "This is it, lasses. I think the tides of our luck might be ready to turn."

"Sure, sure, let's all celebrate," Vex muttered. "We'll go tonight. Take advantage of the good weather."

Issana nodded. "Works for me."

"Great," Vex grumbled. "Just what I've always wanted."

The night was damp and cold as Issana followed Vex through the empty streets. The alchemist's shop was near the western edge of the city, nestled below the city's ground level in the side of one of the canals. Vex led the way down one of the many wooden staircases that connected Riften's streets to the canal walkways below. At the bottom, Vex stepped into a shadow and pulled Issana in beside her. Issana stayed perfectly still.

When nothing happened for about a minute, Issana whispered, "What's going on?"

Vex grabbed her by the shoulders and fixed her with a narrow-eyed stare. "Let me make two things perfectly clear. One: I'm the best infiltrator this rathole of a Guild has got, so if you think you're here to replace me, you're dead wrong. And two, you follow my lead and do exactly as I say. No questions. No excuses."

Issana pulled back and brushed Vex's hands off her shoulders. She glared at the older woman. "I get it."

"Just-" Vex hissed, but she stopped herself. "Let's go." She turned around and stalked off along the walkway.

The alchemist's shop was only few minutes' walk ahead. Vex tugged a dark scarf up over the lower half of her face and Issana did the same. Outside the door, Vex pulled out a lockpick and some tools and knelt. "Keep watch."

Issana looked up at the streets but saw no one. The canal was deserted too. Behind her, she heard the lock click. Vex stood up and spread some oil into the door's hinges. "Well," she said, "let's go get rich." She held out a piece of paper.

Issana looked at it for a moment. "What's that?"

"Your list. The ingredients you need to find."

Issana looked down at the ground.

"What?" Vex demanded.

Issana muttered something under her breath.

"I can't hear you," Vex said, glancing around to make sure no one was around.

"I said I can't read, all right?" Issana snapped back.

Vex threw her arms up in exasperation. "This is just _perfect!_" she hissed. "How are you supposed to be any help at all if you can't even figure out what we need to take?"

"I'm sure I can figure out what stuff _looks_ valuable, thank you very much." Issana untied the sack from her belt and stepped towards the door. "Shall we?"

Vex grunted something that Issana didn't catch before reaching for the handle. "Ready?"

Issana nodded. Vex pushed the door open silently and they crept inside. It was a small, single-level house with a shop set up in the front and a narrow doorway leading to a back room. Issana ignored the flowers and seeds and other assorted ingredients on the countertop; anything of real value would be behind the counter where someone with light fingers couldn't reach it when the shop was open.

It sure wouldn't stop her, though.

Issana slipped behind the counter as Vex went for a lockbox. Sure enough, there were drawers set into the back. Issana carefully opened the lowest one. _Perfect._ Inside were three clusters of neatly tied bags. She carefully untied one bag to see what was inside and was rewarded with some orange-glowing salts and gust of heat. She hastily retied it and stuffed the six bags that formed that cluster into her sack. The second and third clusters were similar, one with whitish-blue salts that felt cold and one with black salts that made her feel a bit dizzy. She dropped them all into her bag.

Minutes passed as she rooted through the drawers and shelves and grabbed anything that looked expensive. Vex was busy cleaning out a barrel when someone in the adjoining room coughed. Issana froze. So did Vex. Vex beckoned silently. Issana crept towards her and Vex reached for her sack, then pointed towards the doorway. Issana mimed herself going over to keep watch and Vex nodded. Issana passed her sack over and slunk to the doorway, peering in.

It was hard to tell in the dark, but the bit of light coming in through the doorway revealed an elderly couple asleep in bed. They showed no sign of stirring. Issana glanced back towards Vex and froze.

Vex had loosened one end of a potion shelf and was standing in the doorway, holding up the shelf with one hand while the other held the two sacks. Issana mouthed, "What?" and Vex shrugged.

The shelf dropped. Vex sprang out of the door and slammed it behind her. The potions hit the floor with a shatter of breaking glass. Issana leaped for the door and grabbed the handle but it wouldn't budge. Vex had jammed it. From the next room, she heard confused noises as the alchemists awoke. Issana looked around wildly for an escape.

Window.

Near the ceiling was a wooden-shuttered window, just above her head. She leaped for it and grabbed the frame but the rotting wood gave way in her hands. She heard someone shout behind her as she jumped a second time, fingers latching onto the stone windowsill, and heaved herself up. She shoved herself through the old wood of the shutters. Someone shouted behind her but she didn't pay them any heed; she pulled herself the last few inches and toppled out of the shop.

"Guards! Guards" The panicked shrieking of the alchemists was reverberating off the stone walls outside. Issana heard mail and heavy footsteps racing along the street above, getting closer and closer, and all the while the alchemists were screaming for help like someone was about to murder them. She heard the sound of swords being drawn on the street above her head, and without stopping to think, she dove headfirst into the canal.


	10. Cards

"Where is she?"

Issana stormed across the cistern, so furious that she thought the canal water might begin to steam off her instead of dripping. Rune met her halfway, hands raised placatingly. "Calm down, Issana. What happened?"

Issana shouldered past him and headed straight for the Ragged Flagon. The door was slightly ajar and she booted it open. "VEX!"

Brynjolf, Delvin, Tonilia, and Vex were seated around one of the tables, with Delvin dealing out cards. All four of them looked up. Brynjolf jumped upright. "Whoa there, lass. It's all-"

Issana cleared the room before he could react. Vex spluttered something as Issana gripped her by the shoulder and heaved her over backwards out of her chair. "You set me up!" Issana spat. "Tried to grab the loot yourself and get me arrested. Well, it didn't-" She punched Vex in the face. "-bloody-" She struck again but Vex blocked it. "-work!" Vex caught the last punch and flipped Issana over with a twist of her legs.

"That's enough!" roared Brynjolf. Someone seized Issana in a headlock and dragged her backwards while Dirge put a heavy knee onto Vex's chest.

"Both of you, enough!" Brynjolf bellowed again. "What in all the planes of Oblivion is going on?"

Issana struggled against the headlock Delvin had put her in. "She-ragh!-told me to go around a corner, then grabbed the sacks, alerted everyone and locked me inside! I barely got out before the guards showed up!"

Brynjolf whirled on Vex. "Is that true?"

Vex mumbled something under her breath and Dirge wrenched her onto her feet. Brynjolf stepped up into her face. "I said, _is that true?_"

Vex rolled her eyes. "Oh, all right. It's true. So? She got out all right, didn't she?"

Delvin loosened his grip on Issana and gave her a push out of the way. "What's wrong with you, Vex? You've been nothing but a barrel of rotten fish since you botched that Whiterun job. You'll be lucky if Mercer doesn't kick you out!"

"Hah. Kick the best infiltrator out? Sure, that'll happen."

Issana moved to step forwards but Delvin blocked her and pushed her backwards again. "Vex," Delvin said, "you-oh, you've gotta be _kidding_ me. You're worried she's here to _replace_ you? Vex, one bad job doesn't get you kicked out. Don't be an idiot."

"Don't be stupid, Delvin. That's not it at all." But by the way Vex was looking down at the ground, that was _exactly_ it.

Delvin stepped towards her. "Look, I know it's been tough since Hjarald got himself kicked out. But he was stealing out of our coffers! You're not gonna get kicked out and replaced for a botched heist."

Vex wiped blood from her lip. Brynjolf looked over at Issana. "It's up to you, lass. This isn't something we take lightly here. If you want to bring it up with Mercer, it's your call."

"I don't think I'll need to," Issana said. "Now little princess here knows I can look out for myself, she won't try to pull something like that again. Right?" She gave Vex a venomous look.

Vex glared back. "Right."

Delvin stepped out from between them. "Now, do you two need to hug it out, or are we done here?"

Vex shook Dirge's hand off of her shoulder. "We're done." She turned her back and stalked away to the farthest table.

Delvin gave the scattered cards a glance. "Damn, and I'm sure I had a good hand, too."


	11. Interlude

Cynric pulled off our merchant scam off flawlessly. We all got rich. Well, Cynric, Vex and I got rich. Temporarily.

But I had the respect of the Guild.

I ran with them for four years after that. Vex never tried to pull one of her stunts; she contented herself with goading a rather bitter rivalry out of me. Whenever one of us planned a heist, the other planned something bigger. Whenever I good haul from picking pockets and burglaring, she tried to pull off something better. But it didn't matter. I was better. She knew it. Brynjolf knew it; Divines, I think he'd known it from the beginning. Delvin saw it too, and it wasn't long before he started sharing his schemes with me instead of Vex. I could pick locks as easily as a hunter ties his boots; I could vault rooftops and get through windows that nobody else noticed. And I was silent. I made a game of it for awhile, coming up behind other members of the Guild and spooking them whenever I got the chance.

But it was like giving water to a dying animal. The Guild was surviving, but only just; it limped on with only a few contracts coming through every month. There were days we all went hungry; Divines, I think each of us even spent our fair share of time in Riften's jail.

But I had a family. Somewhere I belonged. Brynjolf was the father I never knew, Rune was my brother; even Sapphire, that woman with a stare as sharp as the knives she carried, developed a grudging respect for my talents.

I had a home. And even without food, that was enough.


	12. Contract

4 years later…

* * *

><p>Issana was lounging in the Ragged Flagon, booted feet on a table, chair balanced on its rear legs, a half-full bottle of wine in one hand and an empty bottle on the table. Delvin walked past and snickered. "Celebrating, are we?"<p>

"Go 'way, Delvin," Issana muttered. "I earned that money and nearly ended up in jail fer it." She waved the bottle drunkenly. "You think 's'easy stealin' outta the barracks?"

"Mind if I join you?"

Issana waved him towards the empty chair across from her. "Go 'head. But this is mine." She took a big gulp from the bottle in her hand.

Delvin laughed and took a sip from a hip flask. "Word is that Mercer's got a contract coming your way."

"Contract? I jus' got back from a contract."

"This one's big."

"Know what else is big?" Issana said. "Yer ego, Delvin." She pointed a finger accusingly at him with her bottle hand.

Delvin raised his eyebrows. "Well, now, if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is."

Brynjolf appeared as if out of nowhere, causing Issana's chair to lurch and wine to spill over her trousers. "Mercer wants to speak to you." He glanced at the empty bottle on the table. "But if this is a bad time…"

Issana put the bottle down gently, eyeing it suspiciously. "No, no, 's'fine. I'm fine." She rose to her feet slowly, blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes. "We're-we're good."

"Come on, you," Brynjolf chuckled, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'll come along just to make sure things go smoothly."

The room seemed unusually wobbly as Brynjolf guided her towards the door to the cistern. Issana shook her head hard to clear it. Brynjolf glanced worriedly at her. "You all right, lass? You can take a bit if you need to clear your head."

"No, I'll be fine," Issana said, concentrating on being coherent. "If there's one thing I learned from Thrynn, it's how to-" She hiccuped uncomfortably. "-how to drink properly."

"You're lucky Mercer already respects you," Brynjolf said, shoving her through the doorway. "Otherwise I don't think he'd approve of a meeting in this condition."

Mercer was waiting for them at his desk. "Ah, Issana, good. I think it's time we really put your expertise to the test."

"What's the job, boss?" Issana said, louder than she'd meant to. Brynjolf kicked her foot as Mercer wrinkled his nose at the scent of wine on her breath.

"Goldenglow Estate," said Mercer after a long pause.

Issana frowned. "Isn't that where-"

"Where Vex tried to get in and nearly got herself killed?" Mercer finished. "Yes. In fact, that's part of why I'm sending you in. I know how you two like to outdo each other."

Issana shrugged. "Count me in."

"Good. Goldenglow is critically important to one of our largest clients-"

"Maven Black-Briar," Issana said. Brynjolf kicked her again.

Mercer frowned at the interruption but nodded. "Yes. However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson."

"Makes sense. What's the goal?"

"Goldenglow is a bee farm," said Mercer. "They raise the damn things for honey. It's owned by some smart-mouthed wood elf named Aringoth. You need to teach him a lesson by torching some of the hives. And," he added, "clearing out the safe in his basement."

"Oh, good," said Issana. "I was hoping there'd be something that would need someone of my…" She twirled a lockpick that had seemingly materialized in her hand. "...expertise."

"Are you drunk?" said Mercer.

"No!" she exclaimed. "Well, yes, but I won't be when I need to do the job."

"Well, you'd better sober up fast," said Mercer. "Because you're going in tonight. You've got four hours."

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"Oh, and one more thing," said Mercer. "Don't burn the whole place to the ground. Our important client would be very unhappy if you did."

"Don't worry," Issana said. "It's as good as done."


	13. Smoke on the Water

It was dusk when Issana reached the edge of Lake Honrich outside the city. By the light of the setting sun, she could see her target: three islands about a hundred and fifty yards offshore. On the nearest sat a large manor house. Adjacent to it and connected by a wooden bridge was the island upon which sat the estate's many beehives, and on the other side of both islands sat the third, connected to the mainland by a stone bridge.

And the whole place was crawling with mercenaries.

It was like Aringoth was just _daring_ the Guild to come after him.

Issana shrugged inwardly. _Just makes it more fun._ She waited until the sun had set fully before wading out into the lake. The water was viciously cold. She held her bag of supplies out of the water with one hand as she swam towards the island. It was slow going. Swimming had never been one of her strengths; she and the other orphans had only been able to practice when they snuck out at night, and that was rare. It hadn't been worth the beatings.

She reached the island, hidden from sight by a ring of cliffs. She waded silently onto the shore and set her pack down. Opening it up, she withdrew soft shoes and a set of fitted, warm clothing. She stripped off her wet clothes quickly, hiding them under a bush.

A rustle behind her caused her to reach for the long knife tied to her bag. She turned slowly.

A large, ugly crab stared back at her, pincers raised defensively.

_Sorry,_ she thought. _Am I in your way? I just need the spot for a second._ She hastily dressed, then realized that she'd had an internal conversation with a mudcrab in nothing but her undergarments. She shrugged. _Stranger things have happened._ She belted on her tools, then the knife, then stuffed the empty bag under the same bush as she'd hid her clothes. She tied a covering over her face, pulled her hood up, and gave the mudcrab one last look. _Bet you enjoyed that. Creep._

A silent jump let her grab onto the clifftop. She hauled herself up, peering over the lip before rolling into the grass. Two mercenaries stood by a campfire, talking.

"Why are we still here?" one said. "We haven't seen anybody since that one snoop Skel shot at."

"Who cares? We're still gettin' paid, an' gettin' paid to stan' aroun' is fine by me."

Issana circled them, edging around the back of the house. She stopped once she was out of sight and examined the building. The walls were formed of two layers; the main floor was made of well-cut stone pieces and the upper level was of logs. It wouldn't be hard to climb. Issana jumped for the highest hold she could reach and hung on tightly. The stones were sturdy and provided good footholds as she moved upwards like a spider.

More voices reached her ears from the other side of the house. "I hope that spy comes crawlin' 'round 'ere again," someone said. "My aim could use some more practice."

"Damn right," retorted a second voice. "How could you miss that shot?"

"Not easy shootin' in the dark. You try it."

The voices were growing louder and Issana realized they were circling the house's perimeter. She figured she had maybe thirty seconds before they came around the corner. She reached up for a log and was relieved that the wood was in good enough condition that it didn't give way beneath her grip. She hauled herself up.

Twenty seconds.

She climbed higher.

Ten seconds.

The logs, though better than smooth planks, weren't nearly as easy as the cut stone below. She reached for a grip but there was nothing to hook her fingers onto.

Five seconds.

_Damn it._ Issana took a deep breath and heaved herself as high as she could. Her fingers wrapped around the manor's eaves and with a grunt of triumph she pulled herself onto the roof.

Three mercenaries came around the corner, torches held high to light the way. Issana lay flat, out of sight as the mercenaries went by. Once they'd passed, she rolled onto her stomach and began to crawl, lizard-like, up the shingled roof.

A shuttered window greeted her about halfway up. She gave one shutter an experimental pull but it held firm. _Locked, of course._ Issana chuckled inwardly and drew her knife. Sliding it in between the shutters, she raised it until it hit the latch. A gentle flick was all it needed. Issana held one shutter closed and inched the other one open.

It creaked, but not enough to be heard from down below. Issana slipped in through the window and found herself in the rafters of the upper floor. There was no one around. She closed the window and set the latch again before swinging down and landing cat-like on the floor. The stairs were around the next corner and she crept down them without a sound.

She peered around the doorframe at the bottom. To the left, at the end of the hall a mercenary sat, head bowed in slumber. To the right, a set of stone steps led into the basement. Straight ahead was the dining room, judging by the table and chairs. Issana gave the sleeping man another look to confirm his state, then vanished into the basement.

This time when she looked around the corner she found herself nose-to-back with a burly, iron-clad man. She froze, holding her breath.

_This is a problem._

The man shifted his weight and Issana shrank back a bit. He was helmetless, his bald head a shimmering target for something heavy, but Issana had learned about that the hard way. Whatever people said, there was no easy way to knock somebody out and have them wake up later with nothing more than a bad headache. You either stunned them for an all-too-brief moment or killed them.

Issana felt lucky she'd only done the former. Killing wasn't something on her to-do list.

An idea started forming itself in her mind. Creeping back up the stairs, she looked at the sleeping man at the far end of the hall. If he was sleeping deep enough, this would work without problem. If he wasn't…

She didn't waste time thinking about it. With a quick glance into the dining room to confirm that it was empty, she grabbed a wooden platter from a shelf beside her and tossed it in. It hit the floor with a clatter.

Issana was on the upper staircase again when the big man reached the main floor. He looked around in confusion and walked slowly into the dining room.

By the time he turned around again, curiosity sated, Issana was already in the basement.

It wasn't a very complex layout. A single, stone-walled room held an assortment of storage containers, and there were two smaller rooms leading off of it. One of the doors was already ajar, and through it Issana saw the safe. At a silent run she crossed the room and closed the door behind her before the mercenary had returned to his post. Issana pulled out her lockpicking tools.

The safe was tough, and Issana couldn't help but smile at the lock's complexity. It was nice to have a challenge these days. She worked the pins quickly and quietly with her pick and was eventually rewarded with a satisfying click. The safe swung open.

She was disappointed. There was only a single leaf of parchment and a few stacks of Septims, not even enough to bother bringing back. She tucked the parchment into a waterproof pouch and turned around, pressing an eye to the door's keyhole. The mercenary was still there.

_You, my friend, are turning into a big problem._

Before she could begin thinking of a plan, she heard a voice call from upstairs, "Oi, Varn! Skel's target shooting again and can't hit a thing! Come place some bets!"

The man gave a final look around the room before turning and heading up the steps again. Issana felt her breath ease out. She inched the door open, slipped out and headed back to the main floor. It was abandoned.

Within minutes Issana was back on the roof. She jumped silently onto the ground, rolled to break her fall, and vanished into the water.

The beehives were so easy it was almost insulting. Issana reached the island without incident and scrambled up the sloped bank. A quick glance told her everything she needed to know. The place was lit with torches, but without anyone keeping an eye on things they were nothing more than ammunition.

One, two, three tosses; three beehives went up like bonfires. Issana didn't wait to examine her handiwork. She slid down the slope and into the water, heading straight for the mainland. Even the icy cold did nothing to dampen her sense of triumph as cries of shock erupted from across the estate.

_Another job done. Maybe this'll finally put that smile on Mercer's face we've been waiting for._

She doubted it.


	14. Friends in High Places

Issana lifted her upturned cup slowly and peered at the dice beneath it. "Six fours."

Delvin watched her from across the table, eyes narrowed as he tried to read her expression. Cynric, on her right, glanced at her, then at Delvin, then at Vekel. "Four fives."

"Seven fives," said Delvin.

"Liar!" Vekel pointed an accusing finger at him. "Turn over."

All four of them took their cups off the table and Vekel examined the revealed dice. "I've got no fives, Issana's got two, Cynric has one, and you have… Damn it. Four."

Delvin grinned. "Seven fives, Vekel. Pay up."

Vekel reached into his pocket and pulled out seven coins. He slapped them onto the table in front of Delvin, who scooped them up and tucked them away. "Again."

Everyone brushed their dice into their cups and shook them vigorously before slamming them down on the table. They eyed each other suspiciously before peeking at their dice. Vekel leaned back. "Six fours."

Issana frowned and checked her dice again. "Nine fours."

Cynric stared at her. "No," he said at last. "You're lying."

Issana flipped over her cup, revealing four fours and a three. "Vekel?" she said.

Vekel removed his cup, showing a single four. Issana stared. "What? You said six fours with _that?_"

"Only seven fours!" Cynric exclaimed after he'd counted them. "Your turn to pay up, Issana!"

Issana grumbled in frustration and counted out nine Septims, dropping them into Cynric's palm. She glared at Vekel. "You played me."

Vekel shrugged. "You never could resist a challenge."

Delvin stood up. "Well, that's enough for me." He tossed a few coins towards Vekel. "Here's some of your money back. Get me an ale."

As Vekel followed Delvin, Issana glanced over at Cynric. "Well played. Buy me a drink?"

"Nope."

"Oh, come on. It's my money."

"Not anymore it's not."

"Come on, I bought everybody drinks when I got back from Goldenglow."

"That's because Maven Black-Briar-oh, I mean, _our important client_-pays very well."

Issana stifled a laugh. "Better not let Mercer catch you making fun of him."

"Hah, you think I could actually imitate him? I can't frown nearly hard enough."

Issana kicked his shin under the table. "Speak of the daedra…"

Cynric saw Mercer approaching as well. "And they shall appear."

Mercer stalked up towards them. He looked even grumpier than usual. "Issana."

"What is it?"

"Maven," said Mercer. "She asked for you by name."

Issana blinked. "She did? That's… unusual."

"She had this note sent to me." Mercer stuffed a piece of parchment in Issana's face. "It says nothing except to send you to her." He folded his arms. "I trust you'll inform us afterwards?"

Issana raised her eyebrows. "You think I'd cross Maven? If she wants to keep it a secret, there's nothing I can do about it. But don't worry," she added. "I'll make sure the Guild gets a cut."

"Good," said Mercer. "I'd hurry if I were you. That woman doesn't like to be kept waiting."

* * *

><p>Black-Briar Manor towered over the nearby town. Three levels high, its walls were of elegant, dark wood and were framed with stone. Its roof, pointed and covered with smooth shingles, was adorned with two weathervanes and a finely shaped stone chimney, while the manor's mullioned windows were filled with glass panes that shimmered in the afternoon light. An immaculately kept garden encircled most of the house, split only by a single cobblestone path to the front door. Issana felt uncomfortably small as she raised her hand to knock.<p>

The door swung open to reveal an older man dressed in well-made servant's attire. He frowned.

"Lady Maven's expecting me," Issana said.

The man gestured for her to enter. "I'll take your word for it. Nobody's foolish enough to make that up."

Issana gave a nervous laugh. "Well, it's a good thing I'm not lying, then."

"Yes, it is." The man closed the door without expression and led her towards the back of the house.

Issana couldn't help but stare. Every shelf was lined with expensive decorations, from golden candlesticks to fine ceramic urns and marble statues. Every surface was polished to a shine and every room had ornate, animal skin rugs spread across the floor.

It would a thief's paradise.

Maven Black-Briar stood with her hands clasped behind her back, regal clothing fitted perfectly to her shape, silver jewelry on her fingers and around her neck. Her black hair was tied elegantly back, the streaks of grey accentuating her sharp features instead of showing age. She did not turn.

"So you're the one I keep hearing about," Maven said slowly.

Issana hesitated. "I'm Issana, yes."

Maven unclasped her hands and turned towards her. There was something almost… powerful in the way she moved, and somehow graceful too.

For the first time in four years, Issana was intimidated.

"Well, at least you have the guts to speak to me," Maven said. "That's more than can be said for most people."

"I-uh-"

"Stop stammering," said Maven. "I didn't bring you hear for conversation."

Issana cleared her throat. "Then let's talk business."

"It's about time Brynjolf recruited someone with any degree of skill," Maven said. "I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggars' guild over there."

"We get the job done."

"No, you get the job done," Maven corrected. "You and a handful of other names I hear once in awhile. Delwag, Dalvid, Delm-"

"Delvin."

"Whatever. You, him, and that silver-tongued whatever-his-name-is who keeps trying to charm me. Three of you keeping that rats' nest of a guild running."

"We're having some hard times, yes-"

"I don't want excuses, I want results," Maven said. "And I expect you to give them to me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Abundantly."

"Good," said Maven. "Then head to Whiterun. There's an inn called the Bannered Mare. You'll find a contact named Mallus Maccius-"

"White-wait-Whiterun?" Issana said incredulously. "That's three hundred miles away."

"I own several maps, girl. I don't need a geography lesson."

"I-" She wanted to say _not a chance_, but nobody got to say that to Maven Black-Briar. "I… That's weeks of travel."

Maven stared at her, unblinking.

_Damn you._ "I'll do it."

"Excellent."

"But," Issana said, "I'll need to be paid. Up front. Half."

Maven's brow twitched. "Are you bartering with me?"

Issana chose her words carefully. "I can't afford to travel that far. If you want the job done, you'll need to cover some of the expenses."

Maven regarded her with shrewd eyes. "Carrus!" she said suddenly. She snapped her fingers and the servant scuttled into the room. "Yes, Lady Maven?"

"Go down to the vault and bring me one of the bags on the left."

"At once, Milady."

Maven returned her stare to Issana. "You'll have your payment. Half now and half when the job is done."

Carrius returned a moment later with a bag about six inches in diameter. Maven grabbed it and tossed it to Issana. "That should get you there and back."

Issana's arm sank under the weight, and she opened up the bag to look inside. Red and green gemstones sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the window.

"You're lucky that your reputation precedes you, thief," said Maven. "Otherwise you'd have only my instructions, and not my wealth, to take with you."

"Lucky indeed," Issana agreed. "I'll find Mallus and get the job done."

"See to it that you do," said Maven. "I do not tolerate failure."

"Don't worry."

"Oh, I'm not," Maven said with a smile. "I never worry. And if you get the job done right, you won't have to either."


	15. Partners in Crime

Issana slammed her tankard back onto the Ragged Flagon's bar. "Who does she think she is? Sending me all the way to Whiterun for a job she won't even tell me about. It's ridiculous!"

"At least she's paying you," said Vekel, refilling the mug. "She could have just told you to go."

Issana sighed. "Well, yes. There is that. But still! Whiterun! That's a whole other hold of Skyrim!"

"Oh, I didn't say I envied you," said Vekel. "I was just making a point."

"You're not helping." She drained the tankard and thrust it at him. "Fill 'er up."

"Don't you have preparations to make?"

"I'm not leaving until the end of the week."

Vekel shrugged. "Suit yourself. The more you drink the more I earn."

"Shut up."

Brynjolf dropped into the seat beside her and motioned for Vekel to fill a cup for him. "So, Whiterun, eh? Moving up in the world."

"Right, because a two week journey is a real privilege."

"Maven asked for you by name. That's a good thing, lass. For all of us."

"Forgive me if I'm not exactly excited about the whole thing."

Brynjolf took a drink. "Lass, Maven's _impressed_. That's something I haven't seen in years. You pulled off the Goldenglow job without a hitch. Keep this up and you'll make us all rich."

"Ugh, I know, I know." She frowned into her empty tankard. "What am I supposed to do for two weeks? Think? I'll be so pent up that when I get to Whiterun I'll break into every single house in the city!"

"Just make sure you get Maven's job done first, lass. She won't be too happy if you get yourself locked up because of some foolish stunt."

Issana slouched forwards so her chin was resting in her palm. She sighed loudly. "I guess I should probably start thinking about supplies. Does anybody have a map?"

"Mercer does," Brynjolf said. "You can probably borrow it if you ask nicely."

"Oooh, good, being nice. That sounds like so much fun right now."

"You could try just taking it. I'm curious what he'd do." Cynric had appeared out of nowhere, a huge, mock scowl plastered across his face. "How dare you steal from the Guild Master? I'll see you dumped in the canals! Dirge! Deal with this insubordinate wench!"

"What does Mercer do around here, anyway?" said Issana as she tipped her mug back.

"Good question," said Mercer's voice behind her. Issana choked and sprayed the ale back into her tankard.

"What do I do?" Mercer continued. "Maybe nothing. Maybe I just stand around and take a cut of the profits. Or maybe I'm the one that keeps this whole damn Guild running smoothly. I make sure your jobs don't collide. I keep Maven from breathing down your necks. But most of all, I buy off the right people to ensure the guards aren't about to storm the Ratway and butcher every last one of you."

Issana set her mug down carefully. "Well… I think that's my cue to, uh, go."

"I think it is," said Mercer.

There was silence in the Flagon as Issana slunk away. She passed Niruin on her way to the cistern. "Oh, dear," said the elf. "What have you done this time?"

"I'm sure you'll hear about it," she said as she walked past.

She reached the door to the cistern and opened it. Rune looked up from a chair as she entered. "Problem?"

She shook her head. "Not really, just opened my mouth without thinking. Mercer's not happy. Though in my defence, everyone was thinking it."

"What did you say?" Rune said as he rose from his seat.

"I wondered what Mercer really does around here."

Rune hid his laughter with a cough. "Sorry. Had something in my throat. He's angry?"

"No more than usual. I'm heading topside to pick up some supplies while he cools off."

Rune fell into step beside her. "That's right, I heard! Whiterun. Big trip."

"I'm aware of that."

"Could be good for you. Clear your head a bit. I don't know about you, but there's only so much of Riften I can stomach at a time."

"Mmm, right, because nothing sounds more exciting to me than wandering in the wilderness for two weeks."

"I'll come with you."

Issana stopped and faced him. "Why on earth would you want to go to Whiterun?"

"It's one of the biggest trade centres in Skyrim," said Rune. "There are always merchants bound for every hold. I need to find someone who can take a letter and some money back to my father in Solitude."

Issana started walking again. "You're such a baby."

"Just because you're a heartless bitch doesn't mean the rest of us are," laughed Rune. "Let me come with you."

"Fine," Issana said. She whirled around and pointed a finger at him. "But only because I'll go crazy without someone to talk to for two weeks."

"Hah, you need my help anyway."

"I do, do I?"

Rune snorted. "I've seen you try to start a fire. But no, if you'd rather freeze in the rain, go ahead."

"You're a nuisance, you know that? A big nuisance."

"So you've said. Let's go grab some supplies."


	16. Edge of the Past

It just _had_ to start raining on the day they left.

Issana really wished there was someone she could blame. Unfortunately, the weather was just the weather, and it wasn't really a surprise either. This was the Rift, after all. People said it rained for half the year, and the rest of the year it was about to.

Exaggeration or not, today was very, very wet.

Issana blew water from the rim of her hood before it could drip onto her nose. She had a cloak wrapped tight about her to ward off the wind, but the wetness kept finding a way down inside, running down her neck or into her boots. The air was icy cold, too; her breath clouded in front of her every time she exhaled.

"You really had to choose today, didn't you?" said Rune. "Not yesterday, not tomorrow, today."

"You wanted to come," she retorted. "Got to send that letter to your dear old dad. How do you even know he's still in Solitude? You haven't seen him in years."

"He's a fisherman," Rune said. "Where else would he go? He never had any intention of leaving when I was still around, and I know he wouldn't have changed his mind."

Thunder rolled through the forest and Rune glanced up at the sky. "Weather's getting worse."

"I noticed."

Rune laughed. "You really are unpleasant when you're unhappy, you know?"

"Get used to it," said Issana. "I'm going to be unhappy until we get back to Riften and I can drink away all of my hard-earned coin."

"Do I get a cut for keeping you company?"

"No. You can pick some pockets in Whiterun if it makes you happy."

"That's the plan. Trade centre, remember? Lots of heavy pockets."

"Meanwhile I get to be hunting down this Mallus what's-his-name and finding out what I'm supposed to be doing." Issana kicked a rock along the road. "I hate Maven."

"Doesn't everyone?" Rune said. "Pays well, though."

"That's about the only thing keeping me going in this weather."

Rune snorted. "And the fact that if you turn around, Maven'll find out and have you killed."

"That too."

The rain continued to pour down as Riften faded away behind them. The road wound its way westward along the shores of Lake Honrich, a heavy mist nestled in comfortably over the water. Issana gave the lake a passing glance, wondering if she could see Goldenglow Estate through the fog, but it was hidden.

They stopped for the night on the outskirts of a small farming village. where four or five houses were surrounded by a ramshackle wooden fence that had certainly seen better days. They made camp beneath the overhang of a low cliff that was angled sharply enough to keep the rain out. Rune had a fire going shortly.

"That's better," he said, shedding his dripping cloak and kicking off his boots. He set them by the fire to dry.

Issana removed her cloak gingerly and tried to keep the water from getting into her clothes. She was unsuccessful. "See, this is why no one travels in the Rift," she said. "It's wet, it's cold, and there's nothing you can do about it." She squeezed her braid over the campfire to get the water out.

Rune lay back with his arms behind his head. "A little rain never hurt anyone."

"A little rain? This is what you call a little rain?"

"At least it's not snowing."

Issana sat back against the rock wall of their shelter. "It wouldn't be so wet."

"Yes, it would," Rune said with a laugh. "Snow gets inside your shirt, your boots, and then it melts. Have you ever had freezing water pooling in your trousers?"

"I do right now," said Issana, shifting uncomfortably towards to the fire.

"You'll live."

Issana glared at him. "Of course I'll live. But I could be living in comfort in Riften. I have a bed, shelter, and people who will leave me alone…"

"Nice try," said Rune. "But you told me to come so you wouldn't go crazy talking to yourself."

"I know, I know."

"Is complaining your way of not going crazy?"

"Yes."

Rune shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Issana shifted in discomfort at the dampness in her clothes. At least the fire was helping.

Rune glanced up at her. "It doesn't bother you when I talk about my father, does it?"

Issana frowned. "Why would it?"

"I don't know. He adopted me, and you never really had anyone…"

"So?"

Rune looked away and watched the fire instead. "I just wanted to make sure. I know it's not easy not knowing your real parents, but at least I had-"

"Just let it go, all right?"

Issana was momentarily surprised by the sharpness in her own tone. Rune looked startled. "All right, sure," he said. "Sorry."

Issana ignored him and lay down on her side, facing away from him. There was a confusion in her mind that she didn't know what to do with. She didn't even really know what it was. She sighed.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Issana said. "Go to sleep. We've got a long way to go tomorrow."

* * *

><p>The rain showed no sign of letting up the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. Issana was starting to feel like she'd been wet ever since they left Riften. Lake Honrich was far behind them now; in its place was a wide river that wound its way north and west with the road following beside it. They passed few other people. Sometimes a patrol of Rift soldiers would happen past, greeting them with a curt nod of the head, and other times it was a group of farmers heading to a nearby village with carts, but for the most part they were quite alone.<p>

On the fifth day, the rain finally stopped and the faintest rays of sunlight began to pierce through the clouds. Issana threw back her hood and stared up at the brightening sky. "Finally!"

"We must be nearing the edge of the Rift," said Rune. "We're probably only a couple days out from Ivarstead."

"You know what that means?" said Issana. "It means we're still a couple of days short of halfway."

Rune shook his head in mock despair. "Always a bundle of optimism, aren't you?"

Issana hop-skipped and kicked a pebble as far ahead as she could. "I wish I was asleep in my bed."

"You might find life a little more enjoyable if you found more things to like about it."

Issana snorted. "Ooh, look at that beautiful flower! And listen to the rumble of the river! Ah, how lovely to finally be experiencing Skyrim's beautiful wilderness!"

"Now you're ruining it for me, too."

"Misery loves company."

Rune gave her a playful shove. "That should be your name. Misery Hastratus. Got a bit of a ring to it."

"Sounds perfect."

"Where did you get your name, anyway?" Rune asked. "I've been wondering that for awhile, actually. Was it in a note when you were left at Honorhall?"

Issana shrugged. "That's what I was told."

"Sounds Cyrodiilic."

"I'm sure it is. There are a lot of Imperials in the southern holds."

"Do you ever wonder who they were?" said Rune. "Your parents, I mean."

Issana looked over at him. "No, I don't."

"Why not?"

"What difference would it make? I wouldn't know where they went or why they abandoned-" She hesitated and corrected herself. "Why they left me."

Rune gave her a glance that said he was reading far too much into her words. "Sometimes I think it would just be nice to know," he said. "I mean, you know how much time and effort I put into finding out who my family was. It's why I left my adoptive father in the first place. Not that it ever amounted to anything."

"Do you miss him?"

"Sometimes I do." Rune looked towards the northwestern horizon. "We had our differences, sure. But he was still my father. He saved my life."

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The road curved northwards and the trees began to thin as the ground grew rockier. "Look," said Rune, pointing towards the northern horizon. "See that? It's the edge of the plateau. Once we get there it's only a day's walk to Ivarstead, where we'll find an inn, a warm hearth, hot food, and anything you want to drink."

"Good," said Issana. "Let's hurry it up a bit, then." She couldn't really tell what Rune was pointing at; it just seemed like nothing. But she took his word for it.

She found out exactly what it was the following afternoon. The reason it had looked like nothing was because there truly was absolutely nothing there. The ground simply fell away, a steep, rocky slope in its place before it leveled out again a few hundred feet below. The road became a treacherous path back and forth, snaking its way carefully down the jagged incline.

"Would you look at that," Rune breathed in awe.

On the northwestern horizon, rising like a jagged bone of Nirn itself, so wide and vast beyond anything Issana had ever imagined, was a mountain. Its snow-white slopes soared into the clouds above and dwarfed the surrounding landscape.

"The Throat of the World," Rune murmured. "I'd heard the legends. But I never expected something like this."

Even Issana couldn't help but stare in wonder. "I never thought…"

"I'd say that's worth the journey. Would you?"

Issana's gaze traced up the mountain's slope and into the heavens. "I don't know what to say."

Rune shifted his pack and started down the steep path. "Well, you'll have days to come up with something. We'll be able to see it for a long time before we get to Whiterun."

Issana didn't follow him right away. Her eyes lingered on the mountain, searching, though she didn't know what for.

"You coming?"

Issana broke from her reverie. "I-yes. Of course." She gave the mountain a final look. The feeling was gone. She shook herself, then followed Rune down the slope.


	17. Honningbrew

Ivarstead seemed like an insect clinging to the mountain's base. The Throat of the World soared away above the town's low rooftops while its base spread as far as the eye could see. Issana could hardly even bring herself to stare up at it; the sheer size made her head spin.

It was early afternoon as they reached Ivarstead's homely little inn. A man sat on the front porch, leaning back in a chair with his eyes mostly closed. His beard was beginning to grey and his face looked weathered.

His eyes opened as they stepped towards the door. "Ho there, travellers! What brings you to Ivarstead?"

Issana and Rune glanced at each other before Rune answered. "Passing through on our way to Whiterun."

"Whiterun?" said the man, scratching his bald head. "That's quite a journey."

Issana snorted. "I know."

"Well," the man said, "allow me to give you a personal welcome. My name is Klimmek. I'm a fisherman down on the river."

"Glad to meet you," said Rune. Issana nodded in agreement.

Klimmek rose. "I'd better get back to work. And welcome, again." He strode away.

Issana reached for the door and looked at Rune. "Do people seem friendlier outside of Riften to you?"

"Maybe it's because people outside Riften don't have to constantly watch their pockets."

The interior of the inn was lit by a long hearth in the centre of the room. Tables lay around the perimeter, and at the far end was a bar with a man leaning on it. He glanced up at them as they entered. "Welcome to Vilemyr Inn, travellers. If there's anything I can get you, just let me know."

Issana let her pack slide heavily off of one shoulder to where it hit the ground with a thump. "Comfort, at last." She dragged her pack towards the bar. "Do you know how unpleasant it is, sleeping outside for a week?"

The innkeeper gave a light chuckle. "In from Riften, then? We don't get many visitors through here, unless they're headed up to High Hrothgar."

Issana collapsed onto a stool. "Mead, if you have it. Otherwise beer. What's High Hrothgar?"

Rune joined her. "You've never heard of High Hrothgar? The Greybeards?"

"No." She reached for the bottle of mead the innkeeper had placed in front of her. "It may have escaped you, but I didn't exactly have a story-filled childhood."

"I didn't mean it like that," said Rune. "It's just that… well, everyone knows about it. I thought you would have heard something over the years."

Issana drank deeply. "That's good stuff. You want some? I'll buy."

"If you're buying, sure." Rune gestured for the innkeeper to get him a bottle as well. "High Hrothgar is…" He looked at the innkeeper. "Actually, you can probably say better than I can."

The innkeeper shrugged. "It's a monastery, I suppose. Home of the Greybeards."

"Who are they?"

"I'm not rightly sure," said the innkeeper. "I've never met one. It's said that they have mighty voices which they use to praise the goddess Kynareth. Or at least it's something like that. No one really knows for sure." He leaned an elbow on the bar. "But High Hrothgar, that's where they live. Up at the top of the Seven Thousand Steps."

Issana raised her eyebrows. "That's a long way up."

"Not really," laughed the innkeeper. "Not compared to the mountain itself. I don't think anyone has ever made it to the top. At least, not outside of legends."

"But people come through here? To head to High Hrothgar?"

The innkeeper nodded. "It's a pilgrimage of sorts. Some people find the climb a good time to reflect."

"Well," Issana said, raising her bottle, "here's how I reflect." She drained the rest of the mead and thumped it down on the bar. "Another."

The barkeeper obliged, happily scooping Issana's coins off the counter. "Since you're not headed to High Hrothgar," he said, "might I ask where you're bound instead?"

"Whiterun," said Issana. "Damn, this mead is good. Where's it from? It's nothing like Black-Briar."

"No, it's from a smaller meadery," said the innkeeper. "Near Whiterun, funnily enough. I bring a few shipments of it in every once in awhile. Honningbrew, it's called."

Issana took another swig. "I might have to stop in there, bring a few bottles back to Riften."

Rune snorted. "Hah. It'd be gone within three days."

"Depends how much I got."

The innkeeper laughed. "Well, I'll let you two be for awhile, maybe sweep a bit before the evening crowd. If you need anything, my name's Wilhelm. Just shout for me."

Rune watched as Issana drained the second bottle. He chuckled and shook his head. "If you're done, we should probably replenish our supplies. There aren't many villages between here and Whiterun, so we'll need to be stocked up for a few days at least."

Issana groaned. "Right… We're still only halfway." She gave the two empty bottles a dejected look. "Fine. Let's go."

They returned to the inn just after sundown, packs restocked with rations. It was busier now; there were maybe a dozen people at the various tables and a bard was playing a slow, beautiful melody on her lute. Issana sat down at an empty table in the corner and Rune took the chair opposite her. Wilhelm appeared beside them. "More Honningbrew?"

Issana grinned. "You know me already."

"Maybe I should bring you each a few bottles."

Issana nodded approvingly. "What an excellent idea. Four each." She counted out the coins and winked at Rune. "To start."

"We do have to walk tomorrow, you know," Rune said.

"And if my head hurts bad enough, I won't notice my feet."

"Fair enough."

Wilhelm returned with the bottles and set them on the table. "Enjoy. Just shout if you need anything."

Rune drank deeply. "Ah, it's good to be off my feet."

"Hear, hear!" said Issana, raising her bottle. "We should spend a few days in Whiterun once this is over, just relax for awhile."

Rune snorted. "Easy for you to say. With Maven employing you, you've got more money right now than most of the guild combined."

"Well, you know what they say. If you want it done right, pay for the best."

"You really are shameless."

"Being humble is boring."

Rune laughed. "Not everyone has a choice." He finished off the first bottle and put it down gently. "So, Great Thief, what's the best heist you've pulled?"

"The one that made us richest or the one that I enjoyed the most?"

"Aren't they the same thing to you?"

"Hah, not anymore. This one's paying the best but it's certainly not my idea of fun."

Rune laughed. "You don't even know what the job is yet. And you get to spend a month with me. I'm fun."

"No, Thrynn is fun. It's like watching a big, dumb dog getting a treat every time Mercer tells him to go hit somebody." She finished her bottle. "A big, smelly dog."

"All right, so what job did you enjoy the most?"

Issana leaned her chair back on two legs thoughtfully. "Hmm. Actually, I think the most fun I ever had was just picking pockets in the market. Did you ever see that bosmer-oh, what was her name… Nivenor. The one with all the expensive clothing and jewelry?"

Rune smiled knowingly and laughed. "How could I forget her?" His voice took on a high, mocking tone. "_If the poor are that hungry, why don't they just grow food or something?_"

"Did she really say that?" Issana laughed.

"Heard her myself."

Issana shook her head in mock despair. "Some people. Still, she was at least good for some amusement. _Bolli! Bolli! Some beggar has made off with my necklace again! Bolli! Bolli! Bolli!_"

Rune smiled at her for a moment. She frowned. "What?"

"You know I didn't mean it when I called you a heartless bitch, right?"

"What?"

Rune set his mead down. "Before we left."

"No, I know. What do you mean you didn't mean it?"

"You're not."

Issana burst out laughing. "Rune, I'm a professional thief. I steal from people for money. Damn right I'm a heartless bitch."

"I don't think you are."

"Yeah, well, you're missing something then." Issana drained her second bottle.

Rune leaned forwards and shook his head. "No, really. You're not. You do what you have to do to survive. It's no different from anybody else. We just got dealt worse hands in life than the rest of the world."

"Right," Issana laughed. "We're worse off. I think I made more money on this job than this inn will make in a year."

"I don't mean _now_," Rune said. "But it's what set us on this path in the first place. My family was poor, so I had to learn how to steal to survive. My father didn't like it, but at least we were fed. And you had nothing when you got booted out of the orphanage. What else were you going to do?"

"Rune," Issana said. "It's all right. I'm not arguing. But I know what I am, and whatever reasons I had when I made the choices I did doesn't change it."

Rune sat back and began a third bottle. "Do you ever think about getting out?"

"What, leaving the Guild?"

"Well, no, not exactly," Rune said. "I don't know. I guess just, you know, finding a job that isn't going to land you in prison one day."

"What job could I ever do besides this?" said Issana. "What skills do I have that would ever let me live an ordinary life?"

Rune smiled. "I don't think you'd ever have an ordinary life."

"Well, no, not with my history."

Rune laughed. "That's not what I meant. It's just… You're the least ordinary woman I've ever met."

"Hah, that's me. The unordinary orphan."

"You know that's not what I meant."

Issana set her mead down. "So what did you mean?"

Rune hesitated for a moment. "When I first met you four years ago, I knew you were something special. You were tough, clever, had a sense of humor..."

"Hear, hear."

"See what I mean?" said Rune. "And you've just… I don't know. Become more than that since then. We've always been friends, but the more I see you the more I wish… The more I wish that we could be more than that."

Issana was suddenly very grateful she'd set her mead down when she did, or she would have dropped it. "I…" she began. "I don't know what to say. I didn't know you felt that way."

Rune leaned towards her. "Now you do. What do you say?"

Issana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry, Rune. You've always been my friend and you always will be. I just… I don't think I can be anything more than that for you."

Rune nodded slowly. "All right. I appreciate the honesty." He glanced over his shoulder. "Where did Wilhelm get to? I think I'm going to turn in for the night." He got to his feet. "Thanks for the mead."

Issana watched him go. "Rune, wait."

Rune slowed and turned to face her again. Issana suddenly realized she hadn't thought of anything to say. "See you tomorrow."

Rune nodded and walked away. When he was gone, Issana's chin sank down into her palm. She let out a heavy sigh and stared at the three remaining bottles of mead. "Well done, Issana," she muttered. "Well done." She grabbed Rune's last bottle and added it to her own before looking around for Wilhelm.

It was going to be a long night.


	18. Whiterun

Issana's head hurt far worse than she thought it would when she woke up the next morning. Her throat was parched and her body seemed to cry out in protest when she attempted to rise from bed. _Damn. How much did I drink?_ She counted on her fingers. Two with Rune, then three more when he'd left, and then she'd called Wilhelm over… Things were a bit hazier after that.

She massaged her head gently and got up. The door to her room swung open as she leaned unsteadily against it and fumbled with the knob. Wilhelm looked up from his sweeping. "Well, well, look who it is. Surprised you're able to stand at all."

Issana shut her eyes against the bright light coming through the windows. "Believe me, I wish I was lying down. Where's Rune?"

"He left about an hour ago. Should be back soon."

_Rune._ Issana winced at the memory of last night. "Did he seem all right?"

Wilhelm looked confused. "Looked fine to me. Why? Did something happen?"

Issana nodded.

Wilhelm shrugged and returned to his sweeping. "Seemed fine to me. He was up early, had some breakfast and then went out for a morning walk while he waited for you. What-" He froze. "Oh! I see."

Issana's brows shot up. "No. No-no-no-no. _That_ did not happen."

Wilhelm raised his hands placatingly. "It's all right. I won't mention it-"

"No!" Issana exclaimed. "Just-no! That didn't happen, all right? Gods!"

Wilhelm hastily returned his attention to the floor. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood."

"Just a little bit," Issana muttered.

The door to the inn swung open and Rune stepped inside. "You're up! It's about time."

Issana blinked at the light coming through the doorway and shaded her eyes. "Excuse me while I crawl back into bed and die there."

"Oh, no you don't," said Rune. "We're leaving today. You said it yourself. So go get ready to go and meet me outside."

Her headache hadn't lessened at all by the time she dragged herself out the door. Rune was waiting for her, sitting on boulder at the side of the road. "Ready?"

Issana tried to block out the sun with one hand. "I feel awful."

"I'll bet. Wilhelm told me how much you drank."

"I don't really want to think about that right now, if that's all right with you."

Rune rose and shouldered his pack. "You ready to go?"

"No."

"That's what I thought. Come on." He strode quickly and confidently away. Issana groaned but hoisted her pack up anyway and followed him.

It took four days to round the Throat of the World. The great mountain was separated from the northern half of the range by a wide gap, through which the White River wound its way north and east towards the ocean. Caravans and merchants with carts passed them frequently on the road; there were few paths between Skyrim's east and western halves, and this was certainly the safest.

"Maven didn't give you any indication what the job was going to be?"

Issana snorted. "No. She just told me to meet someone named Mallus Maccius in Whiterun."

"Do you have any guesses?"

"Yes, and they're all equally ridiculous."

It was six days out from Ivarstead that Issana finally saw Whiterun. It rose from the great plains upon a hill, its walls vast and the great keep of Dragonsreach shining in the evening sun. Issana felt her spirits soar-in a bitter, frustrated sort of way. "There it is," she said. "Finally."

"You didn't enjoy the trip?" Rune said with an insolent grin. "Two weeks of sleeping on the hard ground and carrying packs isn't your idea of fun? Never would have guessed."

"If you keep making fun of me, I'll leave you here."

"Nah, you enjoy my company too much."

Issana gave a little smile. Things didn't seem to have changed at all since their conversation in Ivarstead, and she was extremely grateful for it.

Rune picked up the pace. "Come on. We can make it there just after sunset if we hurry."

"And then an inn, a fire, something to drink, some hot food…" Issana sighed wistfully.

"And you get to find out what Maven sent you all this way for."

"That too." Issana gave the distant walls of Whiterun another look. "You know, I'm starting to think this is just her way of showing she's still the boss. Like this is just going to be some pathetic, joke of a job that's her way of telling the Guild she still owns them."

"Does it matter?" laughed Rune. "You still got paid. And you got an excuse to see beyond the Rift."

Issana looked over her shoulder towards the Throat of the World. Whatever that sense she'd had had seemed to wax and wane as the days passed. Sometimes she felt nothing, other times she felt…

She sighed in frustration. She didn't know what she felt.

The road took them through a collection of large farms and houses as it meandered slowly up towards Whiterun's gates. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon and it lit up the western sky ahead of them with crimson fire.

A deafening bellow thundered across the landscape. Issana looked around wildly as someone screamed. Issana leaped into a run, sprinting up the road towards the source of the noise.

Her jaw dropped as she rounded a corner. A monstrous man was lumbering through the cabbage field, absolutely enormous, maybe twelve or even fifteen feet high. His club was more like a young tree he'd uprooted than a weapon, and with a bestial roar he swung it over his head and slammed it into the ground.

A woman ran into the nearby farmhouse, screaming for help. Issana was still too stunned by the sight to move when three figures charged past her. A woman with warpaint streaking her face let an arrow fly but the giant hardly seemed to notice. It bellowed again and swung its club, forcing the two swordsmen to dive aside as the club burrowed into the ground.

They were on the giant in an instant. Steel flashed red in the sunset and the giant bellowed in agony. It hit the ground with a roar and bellowed as the swordsmen sprang at it, swords raised high.

And then there was silence. The three fighters lowered their weapons.

The painted woman turned towards Issana. "Well," she said, "that's taken care of. No thanks to you."

Issana frowned in confusion and glanced over her shoulder to see if the archer was talking to somebody else. "Me?"

"You see anyone else around?"

Issana raised her eyebrows. "You think-you think I should have helped?" She stared at the woman incredulously. "Do I look like I have a weapon?"

The two swordsmen appeared beside them. One was a burly man who had an unusual, almost wolflike hunger in his eyes, and the other was a shorter woman with dark hair. She was cleaning her sword. "Come now, Aela," she said. "If everyone in Skyrim wanted to fight, there wouldn't be much need for us, would there?"

"Ah," said Issana. "You're mercenaries."

Aela shot her a dirty look. "The Companions are not mercenaries. We trace our lineage back to Ysgramor himself, and we-"

"Shield-sister." The swordsman placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let it go. We should return to Jorrvaskr."

Issana hadn't noticed Rune coming up beside her as the three mercenaries turned back towards the city. He chuckled. "You really have a way with people, don't you?"

"What in Oblivion did I do?" Issana retorted. "How-not to mention why-am I supposed to take on something like that?" She pointed at the gigantic corpse.

"You don't need to convince me," said Rune. He gave the blood-stained body a quick look from where he stood. "Strange, giants don't usually come near villages."

"Who cares? I just want to get to the inn, preferably without getting yelled at by somebody else." She started up the road again. "There'll be plenty of yelling from Maven if I don't get this done soon."

"Or just a quick knife through the back," Rune added.

"Or that." Issana grunted in frustration. "This job had better be worth it."


	19. Mallus Maccius

"You have got to be joking."

Mallus Maccius was a thin, sallow-skinned man with greasy black hair and a permanent scowl on his face. He was leaning forwards across the table in the Bannered Mare, expectantly awaiting her response. "What?" he said, momentarily taken aback.

Issana was staring at him, an expression of disbelief on her face. "Maven sent me all the way out here for _that?_"

"I don't follow."

"Let me get this straight," Issana said, making no attempt to conceal her contempt. "You want me to do some pest control, then steal a few documents _that you already have access to?_"

"Well, no," said Mallus. "I don't really have access to them. Sabjorn keeps the key on him at all times-"

"So hit him over the head!" Issana said, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "Why in Oblivion do you need a professional thief to lay out some rat poison-"

"Skeever," Mallus corrected.

"I know what a bloody skeever is," Issana snapped. "Why do you need me-why would Maven _pay_ for me to come out here, poison a few skeevers and steal a couple of documents when you could do all that yourself?"

"I don't like your tone, girl," growled Mallus.

"And I don't like you. So you'd better work hard to justify this job to me or I'm going to take it up with Maven."

Mallus frowned. "It was Maven's idea in the first place."

"No, Maven is smarter than this. Let me guess. You told Maven you had a brilliant plan to acquire Honningbrew Meadery and she trusted you enough to send you the best?"

"Does it matter? Now you're here. So let's follow through with the plan, shall we?"

Issana sighed. "You are so lucky I've already been paid. So just to make sure I understand how inane your plan is: you want me to pass myself off as someone Sabjorn might hire to deal with his skeever problem, poison the mead he's going to be presenting at a tasting you'll be organizing, and while I'm at it, break into his room and steal a few pieces of parchment?"

"Yes."

"Good, it's as dumb as I thought. You-" She stopped. "Wait a second… That's not what this is really about, is it?"

"What?"

"You work for Sabjorn, correct? Which means you'll take over when he gets arrested. You want me to get hired by Sabjorn to deal with the skeevers so that it doesn't come out of _your_ pocket when you take over. Poisoning the mead is your way of getting him out of the way, so it's just a bonus that you can get me to do that as well. And I suppose the documents are your way of thanking Maven for sending me your way."

Mallus stared at her in surprised silence, blinking like a confused owl. "Maven said she'd send the best she could find, but _damn,_ you're good."

Issana rolled her eyes and rose from the chair. "Three things before I go."

"What do you need?"

"One, you're an idiot. Two, damn Maven for getting me involved in this. Three…" She sighed. "What documents am I looking for?"


	20. Second Thoughts

Issana spent the morning lounging at the inn, munching on the various foods that the innkeeper had available. A bard played the lute by the inn's central hearth, though he seemed to be practicing to himself rather than performing since there were so few people around. He glanced over at her and winked.

Issana gave him a look that said _not a chance_ and returned to the sliced cheese in front of her. Rune had gone his own way that morning, looking for a merchant bound for Solitude. Issana knew she probably should have been getting ready Mallus' dimwitted scheme, but she really just didn't feel like it at that moment.

She was startled when the bard dropped himself into the seat across from her. He smiled at her, but it was a smile so blatantly charming that she knew he'd practiced.

"Can I help you?" she said.

"Actually, I was hoping I could help you. My name is Mikael. You're new around here, aren't you?"

Issana raised an eyebrow. "I'm really not interested."

Mikael grinned. "Come on, let me show you around the city. You won't regret it."

"Oh, I'm almost certain I would," said Issana. "Go practice your lute. Gods know you could use it."

"Fair nightingale has talons," said Mikael with a roguish wink. "But it'll take more than a few scratches to chase off Mikael."

"Maybe I should aim for your eyes."

Mikael frowned. "You really don't want me around?"

Issana stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Uh-"

"Shoo!"

Mikael scrambled out of the chair, looking confounded. He gave her once last confused glance before returning to his original position by the fire. Issana grabbed the rest of her cheese and left the inn.

The marketplace air was warm and refreshing, nothing like the dirty, old fish smell that permeated Riften. Colored stalls stood in a wide circle around a central well, and there were dozens of people milling about. Issana wandered over to the nearest stall, covered with fresh fruits and vegetables. The apples were bright and juicy-looking and Issana gave a quick look around. The stall's owner, a tall, brown-haired woman, was busy talking to someone and none of the passers-by seemed to notice her. She reached for an apple.

"It may not earn much," the shopkeeper was saying, "but I do what I have to to make ends meet. It's the only way I can keep my daughter fed."

Issana stopped. _Damn it_. It was only one apple, something that would never be noticed or missed, but something about it just didn't feel right. Maybe it was the fact that this woman was determined to provide for her daughter no matter what, something she'd never had, or maybe it was just one of those odd little moments of guilt that popped up about once a year.

"How much for an apple?" she asked. The woman turned, startled. "A Septim, or three septims'll get you five."

"Just the one, thanks." Issana handed over a coin. "How's business?"

"Oh, you know," said the woman. "No worse than usual. Just wish I could get Mikael off my back for five minutes. Do you know how many times I've told that man that I'm not interested?"

Issana smiled. "I can imagine."

"You too?"

"About five minutes ago."

The shopkeeper grunted with disgust. "He's begging for a dagger up against his throat, the way he goes on about me. I heard him yesterday, boasting how he'll 'conquer me as a true Nord conquers any harsh beast.'"

Issana raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "I might have a word with him, then."

"Hah, I'd like to see that. I'd come with you, but I have to mind my stall."

Issana tossed her the apple. "Hold onto that. I'll be back."

She reentered the Bannered Mare and saw Mikael practicing his lute by the fire where she'd left him. He looked up and smiled that repulsive smile of his. "Changed your mind?"

"No, you might have to-oh, how did you put it?-conquer me like a true Nord."

Mikael's smirk vanished. "Been talking to Carlotta, have you? She's a stubborn one, but I'll win her over in the end. Just you wait."

"How about leaving her alone?" said Issana.

Mikael laughed. "What are you going to do about it? Although, if you're planning on sticking around in Whiterun for awhile, I could always use a distraction."

Issana's fist connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling. Issana planted a foot on his chest and stared down at him. "You take that tone with me again and I'll hit you somewhere else. Understand? And stay away from Carlotta."

Mikael's confidence had evaporated into fear. "All right! I'm sorry! Please, don't hit me again!"

Issana ground her boot against his collarbone, drawing a squeal of pain from him. "Good." She stepped off and made for the door.

Behind her, she heard the innkeeper starting to clap.

In the marketplace again, she gave Carlotta a smile and caught her apple as it was tossed back. "I don't think he'll be bothering you anymore."

Carlotta looked relieved. "What did you say?"

Issana massaged her fist. "There weren't a lot of words."

"Oh! Well, I-thank you! I've been wanting to do that for awhile, but I wasn't sure what he'd do. Thank you for dealing with him."

"I don't mind knocking people like him down a notch."

"Or onto the floor, it seems," said Carlotta. "Thanks again."

Issana nodded in acknowledgement and turned away. As much as she wished she could put off the Honningbrew job indefinitely, Maven certainly wouldn't approve of being kept waiting. And she'd wasted enough time already. There was a cave of skeevers to deal with.

_Damn you, Maven_. Issana kicked a pebble unhappily and headed towards the city gates.


	21. Pest Control

Sabjorn was an ugly, corpulent man with a bald head and beady eyes that seemed to narrow at everything around him. He spoke with a slow, almost sly cadence as if he was trying to keep his thick jowls from quivering with each word. "What are you gawking at?" he demanded as Issana surveyed the room.

She crossed her arms and gave him an arrogant stare. "I heard you're looking for some help."

Sabjorn leaned his bulging gut onto Honningbrew Meadery's front counter. "Oh, really?" He glared at her. "And I don't suppose you're thinking of doing it out of the kindness of your heart, are you?"

"You want your skeevers dealt with or not?" Issana dropped one hand to the battered sword she'd... obtained... from a merchant.

Sabjorn pressed a fat finger to his lips. "Hush! Not so loud. If you want to get paid, you'll keep your mouth shut, you hear? Those vermin have my reputation held in their filthy little claws."

Issana leaned against the doorframe. "How much are you offering?"

"Fifty Septims."

Issana snorted. "There might be a beggar who'd work for that little. Two hundred."

Sabjorn's eyes widened. "Two-_two hundred?_" he spluttered.

Issana reached for the door handle. Sabjorn made a strangled noise of exasperation. "One-fifty." He took a large bottle off the counter. "And I'll even supply the poison. Here. Use this on the nests. It'll stop them from coming back."

Issana reached out and took it from him. "Where's the warren?"

Sabjorn pointed through an adjacent doorway. "They've been coming up from a tunnel in the storage room. Watch you don't step in the traps."

Issana said nothing and drew her sword. It felt uncomfortably heavy in her grip; she'd rarely ever held a sword let alone used one. The tapered blade was nicked and jagged, not something she would trust in a fight, but for dealing with skeevers it was enough.

_I hope._

She'd also relieved the merchant of a set of leather bracers and thick gloves. She didn't want the giant rats scratching at her skin with those filth-ridden claws. _Damn, damn, damn you, Maven. This is not what my skills are for._

But it was a test. It had to be. Maven wouldn't waste resources sending the Guild all the way out here, not unless she was trying to prove a point. _See?_ Maven seemed to say. _I can take your best thief and use her as a beat-stick, because I'm Maven Black-Briar. I own you._

Issana rolled her eyes and stepped into the next room. It was mostly empty except for a large door on the far end. She went to it and opened it.

The smell hit her first. Musty straw, spilled mead, rat dung, even blood was permeating the air with its stench. She peered around the door and nearly gagged. Mangy rats the size of dogs lay dead, trapped in metal-jawed traps, while all around them were piled makeshift attempts at straw nests. Across the room was a large hole in the wall that led down into complete darkness.

Issana readied the blade and closed the door behind her. She stepped carefully, grimacing as her boot sank into something soft, and reached the tunnel. There was a torch on the wall, unlit, so she tugged it out of its holder and started it with a flint. The glow was warm and cast dancing shadows down the tunnel.

_By the Divines, how did I end up doing this?_

Issana pointed the sword straight ahead and stepped into the tunnel. It was just low enough that she had to stoop. She heard nothing except the echo of her footsteps and the crackle of the torch as it sent shadows skittering up the stony walls like a thousand tiny spiders. The smell lessened slightly as the tunnel took her deeper into the ground and away from the dead skeevers.

Ahead of her, something moved. She heard its footsteps and saw the shadows shift; she raised the sword-

The skeever launched itself out of the darkness. Issana stumbled as it hit her; its claws hooked into her clothing and its pointed muzzle snapped at her throat with jagged teeth. Issana cried out and struck it with the hilt of her sword, but it hung on and caused her to stagger forwards under its weight.

She pressed the point of the blade to its ribs and shoved. The rat gave a squeal and released its grip, nearly yanking the weapon from her grasp as it fell. Issana stumbled back against the wall and sank to the floor. Her chest heaved with deep, panicked breaths.

_It's all right. It's all right. It's over now. It's dead._

She stared at the dead animal, blood pouring from the hole in its side. It smelled awful. She gripped the sword tightly in trembling hands and stared down the dark tunnel. _They're just rats. I can deal with rats._ She rose slowly.

The tunnel descended deeper into the earth. She could see nothing except what her torch illuminated directly in front of her and every sound was magnified sharply off the rocky walls. She could feel cold sweat dripping down her back as she clenched the sword with nervous strength.

When the next skeever pounced from the gloom, she was ready. The creature sprang three feet up and four feet forwards, claws extended and teeth bared, and spitted itself on the end of her blade. It slid towards the hilt with a gurgle. Hot, sticky blood dripped onto Issana's hand and she wanted to vomit.

_No. I'm the best damn thief there is. I can get into anywhere, steal anything from anyone-I won't let a couple of bloody rodents make me feel weak. I'm better than this._

Issana tugged the sword free. I can do this. She prodded the dead skeever with one foot. It was just a rat. A diseased and aggressive rat the size of a dog, but a rat. An animal. All it had were a few cracked claws and teeth. She had a sword. She shook blood from the blade and readied it again.

The tunnel got damper the deeper she went. There were drips of water running down the wall and into little streams on the ground. Mushrooms were visible on the rock, odd little things that glowed an eerie green-blue when she drew near. She met two more skeevers, one after the other, and skewered them both. With each one she felt stronger, more sure of herself.

The tunnel opened up ahead into a large room lit with the same blue-green fungi. Issana stopped about twenty feet back. The tunnel was cramped, but at least nothing could get around behind her. Out there, if there were more skeevers…

Squeaking from the cave confirmed her suspicions. Judging by the sounds there were at least three or four scattered about. That wasn't a fight she wanted to try. Carefully, quietly, she dipped her torch into a pool at her feet and extinguished it, leaving only the light of the mushrooms.

Then a man spoke.

"Patience, my children. Food will be ready soon enough."

The squealing intensified. There were definitely more than four of the things. And who was the speaker? "There you are, my children. Eat up."

Issana crept to the edge of the tunnel and leaned out. The cave was maybe fifty feet long and ran perpendicular to the tunnel, supported by large, natural pillars of stone carved out by the small river running through the centre. At the far end was a table set with bottles and little bowls of things Issana couldn't make out. A man stood beside it, clad in nothing more than a fur kilt, and around him writhed a pile of at least six skeevers.

"Yes," he said. "Eat. You will need your strength."

Beside the skeevers was a huge pile of straw, probably six feet high and twice that across. Another skeever jumped out of it and joined its brethren.

_That's the nest. It has to be._

Issana felt for the bottle of poison hanging on the back of her belt. It seemed a bit small now. And with seven skeevers and a lunatic in the way, she might not even get a chance to use it. She leaned out to get a better view.

With a crack, the part of the stone wall she was holding gave way and clattered onto the ground. Issana swore and crept swiftly back up the tunnel. From the cave she heard the man hiss, "Go, my children! Find out what's out there."

Issana readied the sword as she backed away. She could hear the scratching of dozens of claws on the rock and the hungry squeaking of the vermin. She was just about to turn and run when two of them rounded the corner and saw her.

"All right, you bastards, come here." Issana swung the sword in front of her. "Come and get me."

The two skeevers charged. Three more appeared behind them, scrabbling over one another to get ahead, and behind them were two more. Issana backed away, keeping the sword ready, and when the first skeever pounced, she lunged. Her sword went through its gut and out the other side, but she hardly had time to notice as the second skeever went for her legs. She gave it a vicious kick to the face as she struggled to shake her sword free and then sprinted back up the passage. A heavy swing of her sword caught the next skeever out of the air to where it fell, mewling, to the ground, and two more met their end as they tried to climb over each other to get to her.

_Three to go._

Thrust.

_Two._

She swung.

_One._

The last skeever was in the air, leaping from the corpses of its fallen brethren, when Issana half-turned and let it impale itself on her blade. Its claws scrabbled feebly at her from where it hung. Issana tipped the weapon towards the ground and it slid off, whimpering until it lay completely still. Issana wiped blood from her hands onto her trousers.

"Children?"

Issana swore. She'd completely forgotten about the man.

"Children? Where did you go? Did you find who it was? Was it that cruel, cruel meadery man who sets traps for us?"

Issana didn't see him coming around the corner until it was too late. His pale, withered face wrinkled into an expression of horror. "My children!" he shrieked. "You-you-you _murderer!_"

Issana whirled the blade menacingly. "Back off. Now."

Flames sprang to life in his palm.

Her eyes widened.

As the fire leaped from his hands, she turned and ran. The heat washed over her, boiling water from the walls and making her gasp in pain, but she kept going. Behind her she could hear the man wailing and screaming in pursuit; fire splashed across the wall just behind her and turned the rocks black. In its light she could see the body of one of the first skeevers she'd killed and she leaped over it. Behind her she heard the man stumble over the corpse. The flames ceased for a moment as he recovered.

She reached the storage room and vaulted the traps. Fire spurted across the wooden wall beside her and the man screeched in rage as she threw the door open and dodged into the meadery.

Sabjorn looked stunned. "You're-"

"No time, run!" She flew past him as a stream of flame boiled out from the storage room. Sabjorn froze with terror.

"RUN!" Issana screamed, and seized him by the shirt. She kicked the door of the meadery open and hurled him onto the road before diving after him. Fire exploded from the windows. "_Murderers!_" came the shriek behind them. "_I'll kill you a_-AH!"

His scream was cut short as a section of the meadery's roof fell inwards. Fire leaped up through the hole and within seconds the whole building was an inferno. Sabjorn fell to his knees, watching in horror as the meadery was consumed.

The heat forced Issana to back away as she tried to regain her breath. Glancing down, she realized she'd dropped the sword somewhere, but she didn't care. There were worse things to be concerned about. As she stared at the flames, there was only one thing she knew for sure.

Maven was going to be furious.


	22. A World's Madness

Mallus' face was ashen as he leaned across the table in the Bannered Mare. "What did you _do?_"

"I didn't do anything!" said Issana, "The crazy mage living in the tunnels, he's the one that burned the place down."

"What crazy mage?"

"How should I know?" Issana snapped. "He just kept going on about how the skeevers were his children, then he chased me all the way back to the meadery and set the place on fire. So don't try and blame me for a botched job. I'm a thief, not some skeever-hunting mage-killer."

Mallus threw up his arms in exasperation. "Do you think that matters? Who cares whose fault it was? Maven will have both our heads unless we think of something. She wanted those documents, and she'll be furious when she finds out we don't have them."

"What was in them?"

Mallus rubbed a hand across his pale face. "I don't know. Honningbrew was cutting in on her sales of Black-Briar mead across the country. Somehow Sabjorn managed to expand way too quickly. Maven wanted him out of the picture and wanted to know how he did it."

"We could ask him."

Mallus stared at her in disbelief. "You think he even wants to talk to us? After what happened? He's knee deep in drink right now."

Issana glanced across the inn and saw Sabjorn with his chin on a table, staring at a half-full mug of ale. "I can get him to talk," Issana said, "spin the story a little differently. I might have overheard something from the mage that made it seem like someone was out to get Sabjorn."

"Really?"

Issana rolled her eyes. "No, you idiot. That's what we tell Sabjorn. Someone was out to get him, so we need to know anything unusual that happened over the last year. Maybe he made some enemies by making a deal with someone."

"That-" Mallus glanced over at Sabjorn. "That might work."

"Of course it will. Stay here."

"Why?"

"I don't want you messing this up."

Mallus' expression darkened but he said nothing. Issana rose and crossed the room, weaving through the crowd and drawing a nervous stare from Mikael. She sat down across from Sabjorn. He looked up, his eyes struggling to focus. "What do… what do you want?"

Issana leaned forwards. "That mage said something while I was down there. I didn't quite make it out, but it sounded like he had a plan to come after you."

Sabjorn downed the rest of his ale, sloshing most of it onto his shirt. "He-_hic_-succeeded, then."

"No, he said something about a partner. Someone who was out to get you. Do you have any enemies?"

"Maven…" he grunted. "Maven sodding Black-Briar."

Issana shook her head. "That's not what it sounded like. Anyone else? Did anything unusual happen recently? Did you do something?"

"I never did anything," Sabjorn stammered. "All I wanted was… was to-_hic_-expand my profits."

"How?"

Sabjorn gave her a wary look. "You're just a… a mercenary. What do you-_hic_-care?"

"I don't like unknowns. If somebody's going to come after you, they might come after me for getting involved."

Sabjorn's eyes seemed to defocus for a moment. "I… I got a gen-gen-" He looked up and around as if searching for the word in the air. "-generous. They said they wanted Honningbrew to… to spread. Maybe… push Black-Briar out a bit."

"Who?"

Sabjorn shook his head. "Never-_hic_-got a name. Elf lady. Dunmer."

Issana stood up. "Thanks."

"But-but-" Sabjorn called after her. "H-_hic_-hey! Who's after me? Who's out to-hic-out to get me?"

Issana paused and half-turned towards him. "No idea." She disappeared into the crowd and rejoined Mallus at his table. Mallus looked at her expectantly. "What'd he say?"

"I was right. He got funding from somebody. Someone who wanted to cut in on Maven's profits."

"Did you find out who?"

"No. Dark elf woman. That's all Sabjorn knew."

From the city square outside the inn came sudden shouts. Mallus glanced over his shoulder irritably at the door. "Maybe it'll make sense to Maven. Or one of your friends in the Guild."

Issana nodded. "Maybe."

The shouting grew louder and Mallus turned around again, face an expression of annoyance. "What in Oblivion is going on out there?"

Issana rose as the noise became interspersed with clanking metal and banging. Several other patrons met her halfway to the door, all with the same concerned look on their faces. Issana shoved the door open.

The wave of noise nearly knocked her off her feet. It was as if all of Whiterun had crammed into the square, pushing around and yelling things Issana couldn't make sense of. A man had leaped up onto a low wall and was shouting out to the crowd. "Down with the Empire!" he roared. His hair was grey but his eyes were on fire with fervor. "Death to the elf-lovers! Skyrim! Skyrim!"

The crowd took up the chant, bellowing their approval and raising their fists, but many of them booed instead and shouted him down. A second elderly man, dressed in rich furs, sprang up beside him and called out, "Are we such fools as the Gray-Manes? The Empire is strength! The Empire is unity! By the Divines, I'll die for Skyrim, but not for a murderer like Ulfric Stormcloak!"

Guards started pushing their way through the throng towards the speakers. Issana was shoved roughly aside and nearly fell, but someone caught her. Rune pulled her upright.

"What in Oblivion is going on here?" she exclaimed.

"Didn't you hear? The Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak, attacked High King Torygg and killed him! He's declared war on the Empire!"

"What?"

"Skyrim is falling apart!" said Rune. "The eastern holds have sided with Ulfric but the Empire has seized control of most of the west. Rebels in Hjaalmarch and the Pale were slaughtered. People in Windhelm are rioting and massacring the legionaries." He looked at her, horror on his face. "Issana, it's civil war. We have to get back to Riften before the city shuts itself in!"

Issana turned her gaze back to the two shouting men. The guards had pulled them away from each other but it didn't stop them from spitting insults at one another and the crowd.

"ENOUGH!"

Every man and woman in the crowd went silent and looked towards the voice. Jarl Balgruuf stood, sword drawn, upon a low hill with his guards forming a wall around him. "I will not have my city descend into chaos!" His gaze swept the mass of people. "Yes, there is a war. Ulfric Stormcloak has taken up arms against the Empire. How many of you would have me join him, pledge Whiterun to his cause? How many of you would not? No matter the choice, to side with either would put every life in this city at risk! Whiterun would become a battlefield. Would you see that happen? Would you have our city fought over as little more than territory to be conquered? How many times would our walls be taken and retaken as both sides fight to control our lands? No. I will not see my people slaughtered! Please, I am asking you to remain calm in this difficult time. We must look to our own defences and protect our own lands from those who would do us harm. We _must_ stay out of this fight."

There was silence for a moment, then someone shouted, "Whiterun for the Empire!"

Issana didn't see what happened next, but suddenly the whole front of the crowd had erupted into chaos. People were shouting, some were throwing punches, and the two men who had first spoken had drawn swords and were pointing them at each other. Others leaped up to join them with weapons in hand. The guards waded in, knocking people down and dragging the aggressors out of the crowd. The armed conflict near the wall was set upon with shields raised as the soldiers drove the combatants apart. Rune grabbed Issana by the shoulder. "We have to go."

Issana didn't hesitate. They pushed their way out of the crowd and down towards the city gates. Issana looked back and saw more fights breaking out in the back of the mass of people. "This is madness."

"Yes," Rune said. "It's called war."


	23. Breaking Point

Ivarstead cut a very different picture than it had two weeks before. Barricades had been erected across the roads and guards stood watch with weapons drawn. Issana was startled by the mix of liveries: only a few now bore the crossed swords of the Rift, while across the shields of the rest was emblazoned the great bear sigil of Ulfric Stormcloak.

Aside from the soldiers, the streets were deserted.

"Halt!" One of the soldiers leveled a spear at them as they approached the town. "Who are you?"

Issana swallowed nervously as she saw several soldiers nocking arrows to their bows. "We're on our way to Riften. Just passing through."

"Riften?" said the guard. "What's your business there?"

"Home."

"What work do you do?"

Issana frowned. "Mercenaries."

"Really?" said the guard. He looked her up and down. "You don't look like a mercenary to me. Whose pay?"

"Maven Black-Briar."

The man burst out laughing. "How stupid do you think I am? Hah! Maven Black-Briar indeed."

"Look," said Issana, "all we want is a place to spend the night and replenish our supplies. The innkeeper, Wilhelm, he knows us. We were here two weeks ago on our way to Whiterun."

The guard gestured to a second soldier, who turned and strode into town. "You don't mind if we check that, do you?"

The soldier returned a moment later. "Innkeeper recognized the description. Story checks out."

The first guard stepped aside to allow them past the barricade. "Lucky you. Keep out of trouble."

Issana stepped through and entered the town. The sun was setting behind the Throat of the World, already casting deep shadows into the streets as they made their way to the inn. Aside from a few patrolling guards, they saw no one. All of the townsfolk were indoors, shutters closed. Issana could feel the tension in the air, a taut silence as if the whole world was pulled tight, ready to snap.

The inn was no different. A few men and women sat around the room, backs to the wall. There was little conversation; most of them seemed too occupied with watching one another warily. Three soldiers with the emblem of the Stormcloaks on their tunics leaned against the bar, the only source of noise in the inn. They drank and laughed uproariously, apparently oblivious to everything around them.

Issana took a table at the far end of the room and Rune joined her. Wilhelm approached a moment later. Issana gestured with a nod towards the soldiers. "Busy night?"

Wilhelm glanced over at the soldiers nervously. "Arrived two days ago, nearly twenty of them. Offered the town guards the chance to pledge themselves to Ulfric, or leave." He hesitated. "Not everyone went quietly… Good people died that day."

A hearty guffaw resounded through the inn. "Ho there! Barkeep!"

Wilhelm turned, a worried expression on his face. "Excuse me," he murmured, and strode over to the bar.

Issana watched as one of the guards reached into a pouch and pulled out some coins. "Got any more of that mead, barkeep?"

Wilhelm went behind the bar and backed away to the wall, clearly putting as much distance between himself and the soldiers as possible. "Only a few more bottles," he said. "You and your fellows have nearly cleaned me out."

The soldier threw his arms wide. "Then what're we waiting for? Let's finish 'em up!" He slammed the coins onto the bar. "Whatever you've got left. If you please..."

Wilhelm glanced down at the coins and fidgeted for a moment. "That's…" he began. "That's not even enough for one bottle."

The soldier leaned an elbow onto the bar and beckoned Wilhelm with his fingers. "You'll have to come closer," he said, dropping his voice low. "I must have misheard you. I thought you said that this wasn't enough money."

Wilhelm's face paled. "Y-yes, of course. I'll fetch the bottles, just give me a moment."

Rune turned his gaze from the soldiers back to Issana. "Shame poor Wilhelm's got to deal with them. Soldiers are unpleasant enough even without a war on."

Wilhelm returned, fumbling with an armful of bottles. One of the soldiers reached over the bar and tugged one out of his grasp, nearly dislodging the rest. Wilhelm hastily dumped the bottles onto the bar. "Last of my Honningbrew," he said. "As requested."

Issana sighed sadly. "Last of the Honningbrew," she echoed. "Might even be the last anywhere in Skyrim."

Rune laughed. "Oh? And whose fault is that?"

Issana gave him a dark look. "Not mine, thank you very much."

Rune grinned. "No, I suppose not. You sure you couldn't have dealt with that mage in a way that didn't burn the whole place down?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it," said Rune, waving dismissively. "Maven's reasonable, isn't she?"

Issana snorted and was about to reply when something across the inn caught her attention. She leaned out from her chair to see. Rune turned his head. "What? What is it?"

A burly orc had risen from his seat near the edge of the room. His green skin rippled with muscle and his tusks jutted upwards from his mouth, giving him a permanent grimace. His voice was deep, menacing. "You should pay him what you owe."

The middle soldier, the one who had paid for the mead, turned around. "Excuse me?"

The orc rested one hand on his table where a heavy, wooden crossbow lay. "I said, you should pay him what you owe."

The soldier nudged his two companions. "Hear that, boys? Tuskface here thinks we should pay more than we ought. Thinks we haven't earned our keep by looking after the town. What do you think about that?"

The two other men turned around, snickering. "What are you gonna do about it, greenskin?" said one.

"Careful now, orc," added the other. "You get on the wrong side of us and you might wind up being labeled an Empire-lover."

"Believe me," said the orc, "that is the least of my fears."

"Oh?" said the middle soldier, taking a step towards him. "Is it true, then? Do you-" He swayed momentarily but caught himself. "Do you know what we do to Empire-lovers?"

The orc's fingers touched the crossbow, just for a moment. "Three drunkards don't frighten me."

The soldier sneered. "Well," he said. "Maybe we oughta change that." His hand edged towards his axe.

The orc's fingers crept over the crossbow.

Issana gave Rune a quick glance. "I think Wilhelm has the right idea."

Rune's eyes swept the room and settled on the innkeeper crouching in a corner behind the bar. He nodded. "We might want to take cover."

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then the door to the inn exploded inwards. A guard, tunic bearing the crossed swords of the Rift, stood framed in the entrance, eyes wide with panic. "Look out!" he gasped. "We're under-"

Issana let out an involuntary yelp as a spearhead erupted from the man's chest. He looked down, confusion playing about his face before the spear vanished and he pitched forwards onto his face. Behind him stood a man clad in the leather and steel of an Imperial legionary.

A second later, all hell broke loose.


	24. Blood and Steel

The legionary charged. The Stormcloaks scattered and the orc grabbed his crossbow and dove out of the way. The legionary's spear caught the nearest Stormcloak in the gut, driving him backwards with such force that it slammed him into the bar and punched straight through his mail. Another legionary came through the door, shield raised and sword poised, and the two remaining Stormcloaks backed away.

Issana shrank behind the table as one of the Stormcloaks bumped his back against it. The legionary was advancing on him, cold determination in his eyes. The Stormcloak raised his axe, clutching it with both hands.

With a wild yell the other Stormcloak charged. The legionary caught the blow on his shield and swung in return, his blade sweeping horizontally across the Stormcloak's unprotected throat. Crimson flecks sprayed onto the table and the man fell.

The last Stormcloak struck. His axe buried itself in the legionary's shield and stuck there. The legionary tugged and the weapon came free of the Stormcloak's grasp. "Surrender!" he commanded.

"A true nord never-"

The legionary's sword silenced him forever. His corpse fell back onto the table with a heavy thud, oozing blood across the woodwork. The two legionaries didn't hesitate and vanished through the open door.

Issana was frozen to her chair, wishing she could close her eyes as she stared at the dead man. Blood was pooling on the table and dripping off the side.

From the floor, something gurgled. Horrified, wishing she could stop, she peered over the table.

The other Stormcloak was reaching weakly across the floor with one hand. The other was pressed to his throat, soaked with blood that still splashed from between his fingers. His mouth opened and closed again and again as if he was trying to speak, trying to breathe, and through the blood Issana recognized him. The bully. The soldier who had cheated the innkeeper.

He coughed, a wet, slippery noise that spurted blood through his hand. His fingers reached out for her, twitching feebly, and his eyes were wide and pleading.

His head sank to the floor and he lay still.

_Issana._

The voice seemed to be coming from far away.

_Issana._

"Issana!"

Rune seized her roughly by the shoulder and spun her to face him. "We have to go! Now!" He pulled her upright and dragged her towards the door. She looked back over her shoulder at the corpses but Rune pulled her outside.

Sound rushed back into her ears. There was yelling, screaming, swords clashing, bows twanging, and the world around her seemed to be spinning. People ran, soldiers charged, someone fell from a roof. Rune was pulling her through the streets and she could hardly feel her own movements. The town blurred past; someone screamed at her-it might have been Rune. A fire was burning somewhere off to the left but she didn't know what it was.

"Issana!"

She jumped, startled. Rune had her by the shoulders and was shaking her roughly. "Issana!"

"I-" She began, but had no idea what she was saying. The noise of battle was gone. All around them was darkness. "I'm…"

Without warning she fell to her hands and knees and heaved into the grass. Convulsions wracked her body for several long seconds. "I…" she said at last. "I'm all right. I'm all right now."

Rune shook his head. "No, you're not. You're in shock. You've been in a daze for almost an hour. You need to sit down, stay calm. It's over now. We're far away."

"I…" Issana wiped her mouth on her sleeve and fell back against a tree trunk. "I saw him die. I saw them all die."

Rune sank down beside her. He said nothing. Issana couldn't stop herself. She fell against his shoulder, heavy sobs heaving through her chest as tears poured down her face.

"It's all right," he said softly. She felt his hand run through her hair. "It's all right. Everything will be all right in the end."

But she knew it wouldn't. The war had just begun.

And it would only get worse.


	25. The Hunter

_Grelod. She towers. Yelling._

_Fear. In my blood. In my bones. Can't run. Can't hide. She sees. She knows._

_She hits. It hurts. Again. Still yelling._

_Tears. Can't control them. Anger. Fear. Either. Both. Falling. Can't protect myself. She follows. Hitting. Beating._

_Again._

_Again._

_Again…_

Issana's eyes snapped open. She heard her own gasp of wakefulness, felt the warmth of the embers nearby, saw the dancing glow of torchbugs.

Just a dream.

She breathed deep, letting the cool air wipe away the memories. Grelod's face began to fade from her vision.

They weren't common, the nightmares. She got them rarely enough now that she could almost pretend they never happened. But when they did come, when they crept up into her mind in the dark of night…

It felt like they'd never left.

_Damn you, Grelod. You don't own me anymore. I left. I'm free of you._ She sat up.

_So why can't I forget?_

She rested her chin on her knees, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, and stared into the remains of the fire. The nightmare was always the same moment, when Grelod had beaten her so hard she'd fallen onto the hearth. She glanced down at her palm. _Still have the scar._

Issana didn't know what time it was, but the embers had burned dim enough that it had to be near dawn. _Guess I'm not going back to sleep._

She glanced up towards the nearby trees. Their camp was maybe fifty feet from the road but the trees were thick enough that it might as well have been half a mile for all she could tell. The sky and surrounding forest was still dark with no sign of a sunrise. Maybe I should go back to sleep after all.

She was about to lay down again when she froze. She blinked, her eyes straining into the shadows between the trees.

_No. Nothing there. Must've been my imagin-_

It moved again. Issana stared into the blackness, trying to make it out.

Nothing. Only shadows.

Issana let her breath out slowly. _Still on edge. Bloody nightmares._

Then one of the shadows moved.

It peeled away from the recesses of a tree, sliding like smoke over the ground, and as it pooled in the grass it took shape. A man. Tall, well built, with pale skin and eyes that were almost lamplike in the gloom.

Issana's mouth shot open to cry out but the man raised a finger to his dark lips. "Sssh," he murmured. "Sleep…"

Issana felt suddenly leaden. Her eyelids wavered; all she wanted to do was sink back, let sleep return…

_CRACK_

A blood-curdling shriek ripped the night apart. Issana lurched upright and saw the pale-skinned man falling, his hands clutching his chest as he tumbled backwards to the ground. Rune stared at the man, then at her, eyes wide with shock. "What-" he began.

"Gotcha, you bastard," said a voice from behind them.

Issana's gaze whipped round. "You!"

The orc from the tavern had his crossbow up on one shoulder. He walked towards them with a slow, confident swagger, eyes flicking between the body and the two of them. "Yes. I've been following you since you left Ivarstead."

Issana stared at him. "Why?"

The orc gestured to the dead man's corpse. "That bastard's been following you since then too. I did you a favour."

"He-" Issana glanced back at the body. "He's been following us? Who is he?"

The orc walked past her and planted a booted foot on the corpse. "Not who. What. Been tracking this thing since it left Hjaalmarch." He drew a thin blade with his free hand and used to to push the dead man's lips apart. "Would you look at that?" he said, whistling. "Hungry one. Looks like it hasn't fed in a while."

Rune got up nervously. "What are you talking about?"

The orc tucked the knife away and stood upright. "Leech. Bloodsucker." He looked over at them. "Vampire."

"Vamp-_vampire?_" Issana repeated. She gave the corpse a horrified glance as if it was about to lurch upright.

"Yes, vampire." The orc prodded the body with his boot. "Don't believe me? Come and have a look."

Issana rose. She walked over to the orc and stared down at the corpse. It was pale, nearly white, with a transparency to the skin that showed blue veins beneath. But the lips… Dark red, like dried blood, and between them she could see long, ivory fangs.

Issana let out a slow breath. "What… what was it going to do?"

The orc shrugged. "Bite you. Drink your blood. What all vampires do."

"Good thing you were here, then," said Issana.

"Yes, it is."

Rune came up beside them, gazing at the corpse with horrified fascination. "So that's what you do? Hunt these things?"

The orc nodded. "A few others, too. Isran keeps talking about reforming the Dawnguard, but the last thing we need is any sort of organization. Just gives the vampires a target."

"A target?" Issana said. "Are there… lots of these things out there?"

"Didn't use to be," said the orc. He swung his crossbow off his shoulder and caught it in his other hand. "But something's changing. They're getting bolder."

"That's… comforting."

"No, it's not." The orc ran his thumb and forefinger along the crossbow's string. He grunted and tossed his crossbow back up onto his shoulder. "I should go. Told Isran I'd meet him in Riften in two days." He scowled down at the dead vampire. "Got held up by this damn thing."

Rune finally glanced up from the body. He looked startled. "We're headed to Riften too. Maybe we should-"

"No." The orc gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "Good luck." He turned and strode away. Issana watched him until he disappeared into the trees.

She glanced down at the vampire and felt a shiver crawl up her spine. Whatever foul spell the creature had worked to put her to sleep had left her feeling violated, like someone had come up beside her and whispered something indecent in her ear. She shuddered. "I'm not going to be getting anymore sleep tonight," she said. "You?"

"No."

Issana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We might as well press on, then."

Behind her, Rune gave one last look at the vampire, then he followed after her.


	26. An Old Enemy

Riften was brooding.

Dark clouds hung in the sky and fog was wreathed in thick tendrils around the trees. Sound felt deadened, muffled, as if the air was trying to stifle it. Nobody seemed to want to speak in case the heavy atmosphere would devour the sound as soon as it was uttered.

The change in Riften's mood set Issana on edge. The market square was empty of merchants, filled instead by soldiers that cast wary looks at anyone passing by. Flags of both the Rift and Ulfric Stormcloak hung heavy on spears in the silence.

"Good luck," said Rune.

Issana looked over at him. "If Maven's feeling reasonable, I won't need it."

"_If,_" Rune echoed. "Good luck."

Issana turned and strode up the road. Maven's manor stood tall over the surrounding houses, cloaked wraithlike in the fog. Issana reached the footpath to the door and slowed. There was no way Maven could be angry, was there? Disappointed, maybe, but not angry. _I could have done the job fine if not for that mad wizard._

But there was no point in waiting. If anything, more delay would just make the situation worse. Issana strode up to the ornate door and knocked loudly.

It swung open silently. Carrus, Maven's elderly servant, stared at her over a hooked nose. A thin smile spread across his wrinkled mouth. "Welcome, thief," he said. "Lady Maven is expecting you."

"That's why I'm here."

Carrus smiled wider. "She is… not in the most amiable spirit. I would not keep her waiting, if I were you."

Issana tensed. She stepped into the house.

Maven was seated at the head of a long table, upon which was set a magnificent spread of meats, cheeses and wine. At the table were two others, a young, dark-haired woman who bore a striking resemblance to Maven, and a man who wasn't much older.

Maven looked up at Issana from her chair. She set her knife down softly. "Ingun. Sibbi. Leave us."

The young woman rose at once. "Yes, mother," she said, and slipped from the room. The man gave his food a longing glance and shot Issana a venomous look before he followed, shutting the door behind him.

Maven rose gracefully. "You've returned."

Issana nodded.

"It's very brave of you," Maven said. "After botching a job that badly, most people would have fled. Yet here you are."

Issana swallowed hard.

Maven stalked slowly around the table, tracing her fingertips over the carven chairs. "Tell me, was it a mistake to hire you?"

"N-no," Issana said. "There was a mage-"

"Yes, the crazy mage living in the tunnels," Maven said. "So I heard."

"He was raising the skeevers, and when he-"

Maven silenced her with a move of her hand. "I know." She stared into Issana's eyes, unmoving, unblinking. Issana glanced down at the ground.

"But," said Maven suddenly, "you aren't as unlucky as some would think. Although burning down the Meadery was not at all my ideal solution, it's more a blow to Mallus than to me. It harms only profits I had hoped to make, not what I already have."

Issana looked up.

"Provided," Maven added before she could speak, "that you at least have some good news you can give me."

Issana opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. She cleared her throat and the noise startled her. "Well, I did get Sabjorn to talk. He had an investor. Someone who was backing him in an effort to target you."

Maven stared at her expectantly.

"A dark elf woman."

Maven didn't move. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Does it?"

"No."

Issana held her breath, hoping Maven would continue speaking. She did. "Speak to Brynjolf. Or Mercer, or whoever in your petty little Guild would know." Maven knuckles whitened as her fingers tightened on the back of a chair. "And bring me this elf's head." She smiled. "Do you understand?"

Issana nodded vigorously.

"Good. Now, get out."

Issana needed no second urging. She turned as quickly as she could and left.

The empty, once-vibrant streets of Riften felt unpleasant as Issana made her way towards the Guild. She crossed through the graveyard, weaving her way around the tombstones, and ducked into the low sepulchre. At a touch of the carving, the sarcophagus slid away and she vanished into the passage.

The tunnel was damp and the floor was muddy with old rainwater that splashed over her boots. At the far end, maybe twenty feet away, was a hole in the ground that flickered with orange firelight. She reached the hole, grabbed the ladder attached to one side, and slid down into the cistern.

"Well, well," came Delvin's voice as her feet hit the floor. "Look who made it back."

Issana turned around and saw Delvin standing with Rune and Cynric. Delvin and Cynric looked vaguely impressed; Rune just looked relieved.

"Maven let you off, then?" said Delvin.

"Something like that," said Issana. "Where's Mercer? I need to talk to him."

"He's gone topside," answered Cynric. "Had to, ah, smooth some things over with the city guard."

Issana frowned. "What happened?"

Delvin sighed. "Somebody was digging. Trying to find dirt on some of our contacts. Dirge and Thrynn went to… convince her to leave town." He shook his head. "Got themselves bloodied up and tossed in Riften jail."

"Somebody bloodied Dirge _and_ Thrynn?" said Issana. "Who'd they pick a fight with, a troll?"

Cynric snorted. "Close to it. Mjoll didn't earn the title 'Lioness' for nothing."

"Mjoll," Issana muttered. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"She's been one of our more… outspoken friends of late," said Delvin. "Talk of the city."

"No, that's not it." Issana closed her eyes for a second, trying to remember.

That night. Her first one on the streets. The skooma dealer. A pang of… something... shot through her. "What happened?"

"She was proving a bit of an annoyance for some of our contacts. Dirge and Thrynn were supposed to teach her a lesson. Ended up in prison with five broken bones between them."

Issana raised her eyebrows.

"Like I said," Cynric put in, "Mercer's cityside trying to fix it."

"Not anymore," came Mercer's harsh voice from across the cistern. Issana and her companions looked round and saw him close the door to the Ragged Flagon behind him. "I swear," Mercer growled, "if you spent more time being decent thieves and less time gossiping, we wouldn't have so many botched-" His eyes fell on Issana. "Oh, it's you."

"Mercer, I need to talk to you."

Mercer strode towards them. "I'm listening."

"Someone was funding Honningbrew Meadery to get at Maven. Maven wants us to find them."

Mercer stared at her. "Oh, is that all? Should we just start asking people, then?"

"No." Issana glared at him. "I already asked around. It was a dark elf woman, though-"

Mercer ground to a halt. He raised a hand. "What did she look like?"

"I-" Issana frowned. "I don't know."

Mercer cast a look over his shoulder towards his desk. "A dark elf woman? You're sure?"

"Yes, that's what-"

Mercer swore and sprang into a run. He reached his desk, scattering papers with a sweep of his hand until he seized one and held it next to a candle, peering hard at it.

Issana strode over to him. "Wait, I recognize that. It was in Goldenglow's safe. What's going on?"

"Nobody's targeting Maven," snapped Mercer. "They're targeting us. Throw enough problems at Maven and sooner or later we'll mess one up badly enough that she'll take it out on us. There!" He pointed at the upper right corner of the page. Issana stared. Little markings had bloomed in dark ink onto the page.

"What is it?"

Mercer ignored her, his eyes flicking back and forth across the page. He was mouthing words but Issana didn't catch them.

"Mercer," said Delvin. "Mercer, what's going on? What is this?"

Mercer looked up at last. "A problem." He pointed at the markings. "It's a code. One I-" He paused. "One I broke years ago. She knows I can read this. She knows I'm the only one still alive who can. This was meant for me."

There was a brief moment of silence before Cynric said, "What does it say?"

Mercer's eyes had narrowed. "_Where the end began._" He looked at Issana. "You're coming with me. We're going to deal with this once and for all."

"I-what? Why me?"

"Because if you'd done your job properly, we wouldn't be in this mess. Pack warm. We're going to Windhelm."

"Windhelm?" Issana exclaimed. "What? Why?"

"Karliah."

"Who?"

"The dark elf," snarled Mercer. "She's a murderer, a traitor, and I swore that if I ever found her again I'd put an end to her. We know where she is. I'm going after her. And you're coming with me."

"To Windhelm? No!"

"Excuse me?"

Issana shook her head. "I just spend a month on the road. I need rest. I need real food. I'm not going to Windhelm."

"You don't have a choice," said Mercer. "You got us into this."

"Well, actually, Karliah did-"

"And," Mercer cut in, "I'll need someone who can get through locked doors. That's you."

"Yes, exactly!" said Issana. "I pick locks. I climb through windows. I don't fight!"

Cynric snickered. "Remember that time you floored Vex?"

"Shut up." Issana folded her arms and stared at Mercer. "Forget it. I'm not going anywhere. I'm done with traveling. I'm not going to run after some crazed murderer and get myself killed."

Mercer slammed his fist down on the desk. "This is _your_ fault, Issana! You played into Karliah's hand when you failed at Honningbrew. She'll only get bolder, understand? You're coming with me, and we're going to fix the mess you started. Got it?"

"Mercer, are you sure about this?" said Delvin. "How do you even know this Karliah'll still be there?"

"Wherever_ there_ is," Issana muttered.

"Because I know her," said Mercer. "I know how she works, how she thinks."

"But if that message was intended for you, then isn't this a trap?"

Mercer reached under his desk and pulled out a narrow-bladed, sheathed sword. He tossed it to Issana. "Of course it is."

Issana dropped the sword back onto the desk with a clatter. "No. I'm not getting involved in your fight."

"My fight?" said Mercer. "Karliah will bring down the whole damn Guild if she isn't stopped. You want that? You want to see Delvin, Rune, Cynric, Brynjolf all dead? Because that's what's going to happen if we don't stop her."

"So take someone with you who can fight! What use am I going to be?"

"I don't need someone who can fight," said Mercer. "I can fight. I need someone who can get me into Karliah's hiding place. And that's you."

Issana gritted her teeth. Then she snatched the sword off the desk. "Fine. I'll do it. But," she added, "after we get back, I'm taking a month-long break from everything. No jobs, no contracts, no Maven, no murderers. Just me, my mead and my money. Deal?"

Mercer nodded slowly. "Deal."


	27. Confidence

Mercer spoke little. He sat in the cart opposite Issana, gaze flitting from place to place as the cart rolled north. The soldiers they'd bartered passage with were just as quiet.

It was a caravan of sorts. Three horse-drawn carts, each with about half a dozen soldiers and a sizeable pile of provisions, crawled northwards on the long road to Windhelm. What strings Mercer had had to pull, Issana didn't know, but she appreciated not having to worry about the dangers of Skyrim's wilderness.

Still, after Ivarstead she didn't exactly feel _comfortable_ around them.

At least Mercer seemed as unhappy as she was to be making this journey. His permanent frown grew deeper as the days drew on. At first his silence was welcome - Issana was still bitter about being dragged into this and anything he said might've only made her angrier - but as the days grew into weeks she knew she needed answers.

They pitched their shelter that night about twenty yards away from the soldiers, enough that they could whisper without being overheard. Not that the guards showed any interest in them - they held their own hushed conversations and were more watchful of the surrounding trees than their companions.

"Who's Karliah?" Issana said. Her teeth were clenched as she pulled the shelter's main rope taught.

Mercer threw the canvas over. "I've already told you. She murdered Gallus and tried to destroy the Guild. I don't know why she's resurfaced now, but she won't stop until she succeeds."

"If that message was meant for you, don't you think this is a trap?"

"Of course it is," growled Mercer. "Her mistake."

Issana tied the canvas' corners tightly. "How are you so sure you can kill her? You already know I won't be much help."

"Yes, I know."

"You want to tell me what your plan is?" Issana said, throwing her bedroll under the shelter. "Or am I just going in blind?"

"You just worry about the locks, I'll worry about Karliah."

"That would be easier if I had more confidence in y ou."

"Excuse me?" said Mercer. At the sound of his voice several soldiers glanced their way.

"You heard me. You want me to help you take down someone who's had gods know how long to prepare, and right now I don't have any idea if you can handle her or if you're just overconfident. So help me out a little, Mercer. Otherwise I'm going home."

"You leave and Maven'll want your head too," Mercer replied. "Or have you forgotten already that you set this off?"

Issana grunted in frustration and ducked under the low canvas. She set her boots down beside her bedroll and lay down. Mercer didn't join her, instead seating himself several yards away with his back to her. He drew a short knife and began carving absentmindedly into a stick.

Issana felt her eyes beginning to close. Mercer broke the stick over his knee with a snap and picked up another one. Sleep crept up on her, embracing her in its soft coils, and then it took her.


	28. Interlude II

Windhelm.

It was the first time I'd ever seen its soaring walls and ice-capped towers. The city stood like a monument over the snow-covered plains, flagpoles and banners rimed with crystalline frost. Dark ice streaked the stone streaked the bridge that led from the gate while snow dusted free by the wind drifted downwards into the White River far below.

And to the east was the sea.

I could never have imagined such an expanse. The land just... ended. Grey waves stretched away for an eternity, and the boats that bobbed on the swell at Windhelm's docks seemed small, insignificant, like insects clinging to a wind-blown leaf.

Sometimes I wonder how things would be different if I had never set foot inside that city, if Mercer and I had gone straight after Karliah instead.

But that is a question for the Divines.


	29. Windhelm

Windhelm's streets wound like the tunnels of the Ratway, shadowed on every side by towering stone buildings that made Riften look like an open field. The snow that piled in corners and fluttered down from the rooftops high overhead dampened every sound. There were no ringing voices from the market, no clatter of wood and carts; it was all muffled by the claustrophobic city.

Issana spent the day wandering the streets, not so much to see it as much as to just get away from Mercer. His glare was unpleasant, his voice was grating and his accusatory demeanor made her want to punch him. The cold weight of the stone around her - so different from the damp, soft wood of Riften - bothered her far less than he did.

Besides the market, the city gates were actually the most open space she'd found. There was a bit of a plaza from which Windhelm's main roads began, which bustled with Windhelm's citizens, all wrapped up as she was in thick furs and gloves. The soldiers - and there were many - stood in stoic silence at the gates and throughout the plaza. Their weapons were drawn.

Issana crossed the square at a gentle pace. There was no hurry. Mercer wanted at least two days to prepare for the next stage of the journey: a three-day hike into the tundra.

Issana had certainly let her opinion on that be known.

But Mercer was right. Maven had her tight in her hagraven claws. Issana couldn't get out of it, not unless she wanted her own head delivered in a box on Maven's doorstep. So if that meant a three-day march into Skyrim's deadliest weather, well... at least she might survive that.

_Bitch._

Issana passed a cluster of people - two men and a dark elf woman - standing near the wall of a building. The dunmer had her back to it.

"You come here where you're not wanted. You eat our food; you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!" The man, a skinny, rat-faced creature, jabbed his finger accusingly into the dark elf's shoulder as he spoke.

"We haven't taken a side because it's not our fight!" exclaimed the elf. "We-"

"Hey," said the second man, broader than his companion but with muscles shrunken by the poverty that also showed in his clothes, "maybe the reason these grey-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

The elf knocked the first man's hand away. "Imperial spies? You can't be serious. Skyrim's home to more than just you Nord bastards."

The man smiled. "Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy. We got ways of finding out what you really are."

Issana folded her arms and cleared her throat loudly. The rat-faced man spun around. He looked Issana up and down, then smiled. "You a dark elf lover?" His voice had a nasty edge to it.

The elf took advantage of the distraction to slip away. Issana shrugged. "Haven't thought about it. I'm not too keen on bullies, though."

"Yeah?" said the man. His stocky companion cracked his knuckles. "What are you going to do about it?"

Issana crossed her arms and leaned back slightly, one eyebrow raised. "You'll have to do more than talk if you want to scare me, rat-face."

The man stared at her, blinking like a stunned animal. "What did you call me?"

Issana smiled. The man took a step toward her but his companion grabbed him by the arm and gestured with his head. Issana followed the motion with her eyes and saw a trio of guards watching them. The skinny man snorted. "You watch yourself, girl." He spat on the ground and stalked away.

_Should have cut his purse,_ Issana mused as she watched him go. _Maybe next time._ She turned up one of the streets, away from the square. The road was sheltered by the eaves of the surrounding buildings with only the sparkling mist of tiny snowflakes drifting through the gap. Even though it was midday, the sky was dim and grey and the road was deep in shadows.

She didn't like it.

She took the first wide road she found and it took her up an open stairway. The snow was heavier out from the shelter of the roofs and Issana had to keep brushing it out of the locks of hair that had somehow freed themselves from her hood. Her boots made light, crunchy footprints in the snow as she made her way up the stairs and onto what seemed to be some sort of wealthy avenue. The houses up here were different, decorated with carven wood and stone statues, and many of the windows were filled with coloured glass.

_Now_ this _is a place I could get rich from. Maybe I should move to Windhelm._

She touched her nose and realized it was numb. _Or maybe not._

There was one house in particular that caught her eye. It could have been two houses, actually. It was built on either side of the street but its second floor crossed the road with a heavy stone arch. Its walls - the parts that weren't covered with snow, at least - were of ornately shaped stone and decorated with dark timber. The main entrance was sheltered from the weather by an overhanging roof with stone pillars supporting the corners.

The windows were dark.

There was a boy standing near the entrance, a short, dark-haired child maybe eight or nine, arguing with an elderly dark elf. "Come away from there," the dunmer said. She kept glancing up at the immense home as if it was alive.

"Then it's true!" said the boy. "Like everyone's been saying! Aventus is doing the Black Sacrament!"

Issana slowed. _The Black Sacrament?_ It sounded familiar. Something Delvin had said…

"Oh, Grimvar," said the elf exasperatedly. "Always with the nonsense." But to Issana, she didn't sound convinced.

Grimvar folded his arms. "Fine. Then I'll invite him out to play." He turned towards the house's door.

"No, child!" exclaimed the elf. "Wait! That boy… that house… They're-"

"Hah!" Grimvar said. "So I'm right. He's trying to summon the Dark Brotherhood!"

Issana glanced up sharply. The Dark Brotherhood. Some people considered them little more than an assassins' guild, but anyone in the Thieves' Guild knew exactly what they were. Delvin had dealt with them before. He had stories. There was something almost… religious in the way they did their work.

It was disturbing.

And Maven had never made it a secret that she had ties to them too. Just another reason not to cross her.

The dunmer swallowed hard and rubbed her wrinkled forehead. "All right. I won't deny it. It's true. But mark my words, boy. Aventus' actions will only lead to ruin. Now come away from that house."

Grimvar kicked a pile of snow. "I _knew_ it." He let the dunmer take him by the shoulder and lead him away.

Issana cast a wary eye at the upper floor. The Dark Brotherhood wasn't something she ever wanted to get close to, and the whiteness of the snow along with the darkened windows made the whole building look unsettlingly skull-like.

Then she saw a face.

The boy was gaunt, with sunken cheeks and matted hair, and his skin was pale like he hadn't seen daylight in weeks. He was staring at her from the upper left window, shadowed eyes matching the facade of the house.

He didn't blink.

With a quick motion he yanked the curtain closed and disappeared.

Issana didn't move. Her eyes lingered on the window where the boy had vanished.

"Issana!" The shout knocked her out of the trance. She turned around and saw Mercer glaring at her. "I hope this has something to do with preparing for the journey," he growled.

"What are you, my mother?"

"No, I'm the one who's going to have to drag your frozen corpse into Karliah's hideout if I still want to use you as bait."

Issana blinked. She knew it was a joke but that didn't make her any less uncomfortable with it. "I'd hate to be a burden like that," she said at last.

"Good. Now get back to the inn. I had the cook make us some travel food. You'd better pack everything he's got for you, because if you run out I'm leaving your body in the snow."

"You're a wonderful travelling companion, you know that?"

Mercer didn't answer. He gave the house a glance, frowning momentarily as if he'd noticed something, and strode back the way he'd come.

_Yeah, you definitely already know that._

Without another look at the house she put one hand on the avenue's iron railing and hopped over, dropping ten feet to the road below. She landed gracefully next to a wide-eyed beggar, his toothless mouth open in surprise.

"Sorry," she muttered. She dusted snow off of her coat and headed back down the road.

Mercer's voice echoed in her head: _If I want to use you as bait…_

Well, Issana thought, at least if Mercer got her killed she wouldn't have to put up with him anymore.

There really was a bright side to everything.


	30. Sacrament

The next day was uneventful. Issana bought some warmer clothes, prepped her pack, and Mercer spent most of the day scowling. He almost seemed as miserable as she was at the idea of trekking out into the tundra, which made her feel a little better. _Misery loves company, after all._

Issana didn't look at him as they supped late that night. She stirred her soup absentmindedly, watching the steam rise in bored fascination.

"You've never travelled in the snow before, have you?"

Issana kept watching the steam. "No."

"Well, it's not easy."

Issana's gaze flicked lazily towards him, one eyebrow raised. "Really? I thought it was going to be like going down to the market for an apple."

Mercer glared at her. "Do you want some advice or not?"

No. But then again, frostbite wasn't exactly one of her priorities.

"Because it's better for us both if you make it to Snow Veil Sanctum alive," Mercer added.

"Oh, and here I was thinking you were sharing this out of the goodness of your heart."

"You're hilarious."

Issana set her spoon down. "Fine. Go on."

She tried to pay attention to him. She really did. But Mercer's grating, condescending tone as he talked about surviving in the snow almost instantly returned Issana's attention to her soup.

"The crevasses can be hundreds of—I'm sorry, am I boring you?"

"A little. Look, I'll just follow your lead, all right?"

Mercer's jaw clenched and unclenched a few times until at last he shook his head in exasperation. "Fine. But don't expect me to crawl out onto a frozen river to pull you out. If you do something stupid, I'm leaving you."

"I'll keep that in mind." Issana lifted a spoonful of soup to her mouth and burned her lips. "Ah! Damn it." She dropped the spoon back into the bowl.

"Careful there," came the voice of the innkeeper. "Soup's hot."

Issana squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Yes, I noticed. Thank you."

The innkeeper appeared at her side. She was a middle-aged, slender woman with greying hair and a kind expression. "Can I get you anything to drink? Some cold water, perhaps? Goodness knows we have a lot of it."

"No, thank you."

The innkeeper turned to go. "Actually," Issana said, "you wouldn't happen to have any Honningbrew, would you?"

The woman shook her head. "Sold the last of my stock a few weeks ago. Did you hear that the place had a fire? Burned straight to the ground, it did. Terrible business."

Issana heard Mercer snort. She turned pointedly in her chair to face him. "Something funny?"

Mercer took a sip of his soup. "No, no. Do go on."

"We do have some of the newest Black-Briar," said the innkeeper.

Issana ignored Mercer's stifled laugh. "No, thank you. That swill makes me sick. Any wine?"

The innkeeper looked her up and down. "Nothing affordable, my dear. I'm sorry."

Issana thrust her hand into her belt pouch and pulled out one of the gleaming gemstones. She slapped it onto the table. "There. Now get me something worth that."

The innkeeper was momentarily taken aback, but she picked up the gem and dropped it into her pocket. "Of course."

She returned a moment later with a bottle of wine. "Black-Briar Reserve," she said, setting it on the table. "This bottle is last year's."

"Black-Briar? Again?" Issana grunted and rested her head in her hand. "Ugh, fine. Just leave it here."

The innkeeper gave her an insulted look and strode away. Issana reached out blindly and pulled the bottle towards her.

"Do you ever stop drinking?" said Mercer.

"When I'm asleep."

"Huh, of course." Mercer examined his soup and muttered something under his breath.

Issana flicked the cork out of the bottle from where it had been resting. "What was that?"

"I said, you have a problem."

Issana lifted the bottle to her lips and took a deep drink. "And so what if I do? Is it any of your business?"

"It is if you can't walk tomorrow."

Issana didn't put the bottle down. "I'll be fine." She took another swig.

"How many flasks do you have hidden in your pack?" Mercer sneered. "One per day?"

"Drop it."

"Do you need it to cope with the wealthy lifestyle you've got at the Guild?" He paused and gave her a mocking, knowing stare. "Is it because you're an orphan?"

Issana froze with the bottle halfway to her mouth. "_Excuse me?_"

Mercer shrugged. "I'm just asking." But the smug smile at the corner of his lips said it was anything but that.

Issana shoved her chair back roughly. "I don't need this." She gripped the wine tightly and stormed out of the inn.

The night was biting cold. She didn't have her hood or cloak and the snow was blowing hard, but she didn't care. _You bastard, Mercer. You don't know anything about me. I'm…_ She kicked a snowbank angrily and felt some of it spray into her boot. She swore loudly.

"Now, now," said a soft voice behind her, "shouldn't a young lady like you use kinder language than that?"

Something about the voice made Issana recoil as she turned around, and as she saw the speaker she knew her revulsion was well founded. It might have been a man, but he was so covered in black furs and rags that it was hard to tell. His face was hidden behind a stained piece of dark cloth and a tattered hood was cast over his eyes. He stank.

"Get away from me," Issana snarled.

He sidled towards her like a spider. "Do you speak to all beggars this way?"

Issana backed away. "Only unhelpful ones. Leave me alone."

"Unhelpful?" said the man. "Please, I can help you if you help me…"

Issana had to jump backwards as the man reached for her. "Don't touch me!" She took off down the road. The wine spilled out of the bottle with each step and sloshed over her hand until she finally slowed.

It was hard to tell where she was in the flurry of snow. The spilled wine was painfully cold in the wind and Issana buried the hand inside her clothes. She took the bottle in her other hand, wincing at the icy glass. Breathing was starting to hurt too. _Freeze to death inside the city? That'd be brilliant._ She grunted and threw the bottle hard at a stone wall, where it shattered in a spray of purple.

_Damn. Where in Oblivion am I?_

None of the alleyways around her looked familiar and it was late enough that no one was around. She stared at the purple stain on the wall for a long while, watching it drip down the stone.

"Waste of good wine, isn't it?"

Issana jumped with an involuntary gasp as she whirled around. The man was there again, a mere three feet from her, scuttling like a cockroach. Issana poised to run and realized she was in a corner. Left and right both led past the crazed beggar, only this time she could see the gleam of a knife in his right hand.

The man lunged. Issana kicked out and knocked him backwards, and immediately she spun and leaped straight up the wall. Her fingertips found purchase in the rough stone, agonizingly cold, and as the man raised the knife again she heaved herself up. The knife skittered off the rock and nearly nicked her ankle. Another pull and she felt her hands wrap over a ledge, then she grabbed a railing and scrambled over it. She fell hard into the snow on the other side.

"Where are you, my pretty?"

Issana leaped out of the snowbank. The man's voice wasn't coming from down below anymore. She couldn't see him through the thick snow but she could hear his murmurs getting nearer. "I know you're up here somewhere… Come out. I need you for my… ritual."

Issana stumbled backwards and fell into the snow again. Her hands were numb. She crawled, staring into the snowstorm until her head bumped hard against a wall.

"You won't get far," the man purred. "You're freezing. I know every street. You should come out, and save us both the trouble."

Issana still couldn't see him. The snow was getting worse. But at least it meant he couldn't see her, either. She fumbled at the wall until her hands found a door handle. Locked.

She raised her hands to her mouth and breathed on them to warm them, even just a bit. It worked. She reached into her belt for her lock picks.

"I'm going to find you," whispered the man's voice, muffled by the snow. A dark blur was moving slowly back and forth in the snow. Issana tore her eyes away and inserted the lockpick with frigid, trembling fingers. Her hand slipped and the lockpick vanished into the snow. She bit back a cry and tried again. The lock clicked faintly before her hand slipped off and thumped against the door. The impact stabbed through her forearm.

"I heard that," said the man. "I know you're there." The dark shape was becoming clearer. Issana bit her lip hard and wiggled the pick one last time. The lock turned. Issana gripped the handle and threw the door open, tumbling inside amidst a pile of snow. Without a second's hesitation she slammed her weight back into the door. It hit something with a loud thud and a grunt of pain from the other side; Issana held onto the handle as the man tried to force it from the outside. Her panicked eyes fell on the key hanging on a hook and the second she felt the pressure on the handle lessen for a moment she lunged for it, thrust it into the lock and turned it.

There was silence. All she could hear was the sound of her rapid breathing; all noise of the man had vanished. Issana didn't move, frozen, staring at the door and waiting for the moment when it would burst inward. But nothing happened.

The minutes drifted by. Still nothing.

Issana sagged back against the wall. She didn't know if the man had left completely or if he was still waiting outside in the snow, but at least for the moment she was safe in here.

Wherever _here_ was…

She looked around. How had nobody heard the noise and come looking? Was the house abandoned? No, light was coming from a single candle on a table about five feet away. It had burned low and was nearly gone. But that was all. Were they just heavy sleepers?

There was another candle ahead of her, at the top of a staircase. It too was nearly spent. It sputtered forlornly in the gloom as if trying to stay alive, but even as Issana watched it gave one last wisp of flame and died.

Her best bet was to find a window and get onto the roof. From there she could easily get away without the crazed murderer seeing her. She fought to steady her breathing, then rose. With one careful step at a time, she started up the stairs.

The second floor was just as abandoned as the first - just a few candles giving their last breaths and nothing more. She could hardly see as one by one the candles failed.

And then she heard it.

It sounded like a whisper, but as she listened she realized it was a voice coming from behind a door. A chant, though she couldn't make out the words. And what was that unholy stench? She crept towards the staircase as quietly as she could. She needed to get to the roof, even if it meant getting closer to whoever was doing the chanting. A floorboard creaked beneath her foot and she froze, but the voice carried on without notice.

One stair.

Another.

Another.

She was halfway up the stairs when a chill crawled across her spine.

"Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your child unto me…"

The Black Sacrament.

She hadn't just stumbled into anyone's house. This was _that_ house, where the boy was trying to call on the Dark Brotherhood.

"For the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear…"

The chant faded momentarily. "I know you're there."

His voice was soft, flat, and had an undertone that set the hair on the back of Issana's neck on end.

"Come up."

_I think I'll stay right here._

The sound of a door opening came from the upper floor and spilled red light onto the walls. "Come up," said the boy again.

_Up_ meant coming face to face with a boy who was trying to summon a murder cult. _Down_ meant a murderer on the streets.

Only one of them was trying to kill _her_, though. She took a deep breath and strode up the stairs.

The smell hit her first. Cloying, sweet, with a nasty hint of old meat mixed in, it seemed to have pervaded the whole floor in eye-watering intensity. Issana turned at the top of the stairs towards the source of the light and saw an open door, through which glowed blood-red candles.

Standing in the doorway was the boy. He was exactly like she'd seen through the window. No more than ten years old, he was thin, pale, almost lifeless, with dark eyes that looked almost like sockets. His black hair was tangled and his hands were covered with blood.

"I knew you'd come."

Issana caught a glimpse over Aventus' shoulder and saw a ring of candles. The wooden floor within the ring was smeared and stained with blood and lined with glistening bones. In the centre was - Issana looked away, fighting with her body not to gag - a rotting human heart. "Me?" she said.

"Yes. The Dark Brotherhood always answers."

Issana covered her nose against the smell. "I-I'm not… I don't think I'm what you think I am."

"Of course you are," Aventus murmured. His voice was little more than a whisper. "I prayed, and the Night Mother sent you to me. Even if you don't know it yet."

Issana pressed her hand to her mouth as the smell grew even more overwhelming. "I should…" She paused to keep from gagging again. "I should go."

"Yes," said Aventus. "Go and kill Grelod for me. And tell her, as she's bleeding on the floor, who did it."

Issana stopped mid-turn and the smell hit her again. "Grelod?" she echoed. "Honorhall Orphanage?"

Aventus nodded.

"Aventus…" Issana said. "I know how horrible Grelod is. Believe me, I know. But the Black Sacrament? This is… this is bad. You don't want to bring the Dark Brotherhood into this."

"Yes, I do," said Aventus. "And I've done it. You're here now. And you'll kill Grelod for me. Beat her. Stab her. Make her bleed. Make her beg." A hungry light had come into his sunken eyes.

"When were you at Honorhall? I don't remember you."

Aventus smiled. Several of his teeth were missing. "Not long enough for Grelod to break me. I escaped. And now she'll pay."

"Aventus," Issana began hesitantly. "I'm not going to kill anyone, not even Grelod."

Aventus stared at her in silence, unblinking. His eyes were cold, unsettling. "She already broke you." He turned and walked back into the bloodstained room. Sinking to his knees, he began to chant again. "Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother…"

Issana backed away. One of the neighbouring rooms had its door open and a window onto the roof. Aventus didn't pay her anymore attention. She pushed open the window, wincing at the snow-filled wind, and forced herself onto the roof. A short hop put her on the next house's roof, and once she'd gone three or four houses away from Aventus she slid down a sloped roof into a snowbank. The snow filled her shirt and boots but she didn't stop to feel it. She broke into a run, going in the direction she knew the inn lay.

She reached the inn with no sign of the black-clothed killer. Breathing a sigh of relief she pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth.

The innkeeper glanced up in surprise from her cleaning. "My goodness!" she exclaimed, looking Issana over. "You look dreadful."

Issana could feel the snow melting into ice water all throughout her clothes. "I feel worse." She dropped into a chair by the still-hot embers of the hearth and groaned. "And come dawn I'll be out in that horrible weather again."

"Yes, well," the innkeeper said with a chuckle, "I hope you have better clothes than those. Freezing's a nasty way to go."

Issana gave her a withering glare and sent her scurrying away. Issana's head sank forwards into her hands. _This is going to be awful._


	31. Into the Snow

It was worse.

The snow pounded against her, finding every little opening in her clothes to pile into and melt. The wind was howling from the east and threatened to blow them sideways every time it gusted. And despite Issana's wide snowshoes - which kept getting heavier as snow piled onto them - her feet still slipped and sank into the ground. It was exhausting, so much so that any snow that melted into her clothes wasn't cold; her body heat just warmed it instantly and created wet pools against her skin.

At least Mercer was pulling the sled for now. In a few hours it would be her turn to take it again, dragging their supplies step by step through the wilderness.

Her face kept getting itchy beneath the face cover she wore as the moisture of her breath caused it to freeze into a solid shape. But she couldn't scratch anything with the massive, bowl-like gloves that covered her hands to the elbow.

Her snowshoe caught in a mound of snow and she stumbled. She swore inwardly. Two more days of this? The few hours they'd already gone was bad enough. Even if the weather didn't get worse, she'd still be so exhausted by the end that she'd be of little use in Karliah's hideout.

But that was probably the point. If Karliah was as clever as Mercer said then she'd have picked this place for that exact reason.

Mercer passed her the sled's ropes without a word. Issana clenched her jaw and heaved, feeling the sled's skids begin to slide over the snow.

One step.

Two steps.

Step after step she went, staring at the ground as she dragged the wooden sled onwards. Even in the frigid wind she could feel sweat seeping into her underclothes. Her legs were beginning to feel leaden and breathing deep was sharp and painful.

"Hurry it up, would you?" snapped Mercer.

Issana grunted with exertion as she gave the sled a yank. "I'm trying. I'm a thief, not an ox."

Mercer didn't reply. Issana tugged hard again and her foot slipped, dropping her to her knees in the snow. She swore loudly and picked herself up again.

"Ugh, give it to me," said Mercer.

"I've got it."

"At this pace we'll never make it. Give it to me."

"I said," Issana began, giving the sled another heave, "I've got it." She stumped forwards in the snow.

"Suit yourself," said Mercer.

She made it another hour before they hit a hill. Issana strained, fighting with the incline, and got three or four yards up before her feet shot out from under her and the sled slid back down the hill, dragging her behind it. Mercer stopped it with one foot.

Issana rolled upright, spitting snow. "A little help, please?"

"Thought you said you had it."

Issana shook snow from her hood. "I'll pull, you push."

"No," said Mercer. "It's getting dark. We'll make camp here and start up the hill in the morning. Pitch the tent."

"You going to help?"

Mercer glared at her. "I'm going to have a look around."

Issana pulled the rolled tent off the back of the sled. It hit the snow with a muffled thump. She began undoing the ropes that kept the furs bound tightly together.

It took a few attempts to get the tent ready. The thick furs were extremely heavy and turned the process into a struggle, but after a few tries and a lot of cursing, Issana finally had it upright. She carried her and Mercer's packs over to it and tossed them inside, then crawled in herself.

It was uncomfortably tight. Her head brushed the ceiling a few times as she struggled to lay out the furs. She didn't relish the thought of sleeping so close to Mercer but knew there was little choice. Once she'd finished, she clambered back outside.

The biting wind made her instantly regret it. Mercer was standing with his back to her, watching the empty tundra. "I killed an elk about half a mile east of us," he said. "Should keep any sabrecats off us overnight." He ducked down and crawled into the tent.

Issana winced at the freezing wind as it found its way inside her clothes. _Damn, this place is horrible._

The snow had lessened, though. With any luck it would be gone by tomorrow and they could press on in clear weather instead of battling their way through wind and ice. She brushed snow from her face. _Yeah, when this is over I'm definitely taking a break._

It was dark when Mercer's voice called out from within the tent. "You going to stay out there and freeze to death?"

Issana rolled her eyes and crawled back into the tent. Mercer had already rolled up in furs and had his eyes closed. She ignored him and gathered her own furs around herself, facing away from him. All her frustration from the day quickly faded into sleep.

It came back as soon as she awoke. Mercer was already taking down the tent with her inside. She grunted under her breath and scrambled outside. "Do you mind?"

Mercer didn't look at her. "Get the sled ready."

Issana stalked off. The snow had stopped and the sky was clear, but the sled was still partially buried. She kicked as much of the snow away as she could and shoved the sled free. Mercer dropped the tent onto it with a grunt. "Eat quickly," he said. "I want to get as much out of this weather as we can."

They set off up the hill. Mercer took the lead, dragging the sled with the ropes braced over his shoulder for support. Issana leaned all her weight into the back of the sled to help but kept sinking into the fresh, powdery snow.

They breasted the hill after a struggle and stopped for a moment. Mercer removed his hood and ran a hand through his greying hair. He glanced over at Issana. "Take the sled for the next stretch. It's flat."

It was. As far as Issana could see there was nothing but the smooth whiteness of the tundra. To the west were the lofty peaks of the Winterhold Mountains, jagged like shards of crystal and capped with ice. It was strangely beautiful, in its own unforgiving way.

Mercer handed her the ropes and set off north-east. "If we can make good time today we should reach Snow Veil by noon tomorrow."

Issana hoisted the ropes and pulled. At least the calm weather made it easier. She took a few deliberate steps to get her balance and then set off quickly after Mercer with the sled whispering along behind.


	32. Snow Veil Sanctum

"Well, now," Mercer said quietly. "Looks like she's here after all."

They stood on the edge of a deep pit in the snow. What had been excavated was piled all around them, creating an almost wall-like structure around the hole. At the bottom, much of the snow had been knocked free of one side and piled into smaller mounds, revealing the dark, rough surface of a stone wall.

The door was half-buried by fresh snow, but Issana could still make out weird, unearthly carvings shaped into its metal. Mercer wasted no time. He grabbed a pair of shovels from the sled and jumped down into the pit. He landed with a soft thud about seven feet down. "Coming?"

Issana jumped in after him and started digging. The snow was still light, so they had little trouble clearing it away. When they'd finished, Mercer went to clamber out of the hole but only made it halfway up before his foot came free and he fell. Issana snickered.

"Something funny?" Mercer snarled.

Issana strode past him, kicked her feet into the snowy wall and scrambled out with little effort. "What did you need from up here?"

"My pack."

Issana dropped Mercer's pack on him and relished in the thump before sliding nimbly down into the hole again.

Mercer pushed on the door. "Locked."

"You thought Karliah was going to let us walk right in?" Issana stepped up to the door and examined it. "Keyhole..."

She spotted it after a few seconds, a small, dark hole in the shadow of the main carving. She still couldn't tell what the carving was - some sort of horned creature maybe? - so she ignored it. "Better hope this goes right the first time," she muttered, and yanked off her gloves. The frigid air cut across her finger like a knife. She pulled out her picks and carefully slid one inside the lock. It clicked and turned. _I love ancient locks. So simple. _She hastily put her gloves back on just as her fingers were starting to go numb. Mercer pushed the door and it swung open with a snap of ice and the wail of old metal. He stared inside. "Damn."

Issana leaned in beside him to look. "You really think she's in there?" It was black as pitch, with the light only illuminating the first few paces. "She'd go mad."

"If she isn't already," said Mercer. He slung his pack onto the ground and reached inside, withdrawing two small candle lamps. He lit them and passed one to her. The single flame didn't do much. She stared at him. "Really?"

Mercer shot her a look. "Trust me. The less visible we are, the better."

"Even this much light will make us stand out in there."

"To Karliah, maybe." Mercer raised the lamp high in front of him and drew his sword. "But it's not Karliah I'm worried about." He stepped into the blackness.


	33. The Tomb

Mercer led the way. His lantern was held at eye-level in front of him and cast dancing shadows across the walls and ceiling. The stone was old, rough hewn and broken in some places, and there was a thick layer of dust coating the floor.

_This place must be ancient..._

But Issana could tell right away that they weren't the first to come through. The dust had been disturbed many times, brushed aside in swathes by footsteps and dragged objects. Tomb robbers, most likely. Mercer hadn't exactly been forthcoming on the history of this place, but she knew enough to recognize a crypt when she was in one.

Being inside a crypt felt a little too prophetic for her liking.

Mercer stopped and Issana almost walked into him. He lowered the lamp to illuminate the floor, revealing ancient steps that fell downwards into the gloom. Only the first few were visible in the dim light. Mercer stiffened momentarily as if he'd heard something, but took a cautious step onto the first stair. Issana listened hard but heard nothing except the sound of her own breathing. Mercer held up a finger to tell her to stay, then crept down the stairs.

He must have reached the bottom because the flicker of his lamp began moving horizontally again, but Issana could only guess. Mercer's light stopped, bobbed momentarily and then moved back and forth in a beckon. Issana followed silently.

If they were in a room, the only indication Issana had was that she couldn't see the walls. The floor was smooth and well-shaped, different from the rocky hall through which they'd entered. Mercer raised the lamp to illuminate his face and mouthed something Issana didn't catch in the weak light. She frowned. Mercer rolled eyes and mouthed again, exaggerating his syllables: _Find. Door._ He pointed to himself and gestured over his shoulder, then at her and the other way.

Issana nodded and turned around. She held the candle-lamp as far out in front of her as she could and gripped her sword tightly. She took one step, then two, then three, each time with slow, deliberate caution.

She'd made it nearly ten feet with no sign of a wall when something rattled loudly from the other side of the room. Mercer swore aloud and she heard him fumbling with something; the rattling increased for a moment and then stopped. Issana realized she'd been holding her breath. She crept back towards Mercer and saw him steadying what appeared to be some sort of crude decoration, a series of bones tied together with string and attached to the ceiling. Issana glared at him.

_And you wanted _me _to be quiet._

Then behind her, something growled.

She spun. Mercer grabbed her by the shirt and yanked her backwards. She hit the floor as an axe, an ancient, rusty slab of metal, slammed down between her feet. She held out her lamp, desperate to see her attacker-

Eyeless sockets. Grey skin like shriveled leather. Shreds of cloth still hanging from its limbs. Lipless mouth peeled open in a feral snarl.

It swung again. Issana felt a shriek of terror rip itself from her throat and Mercer lunged forwards. Issana scrambled backwards along the ground; her scream became a rapid stream of panicked gasps, and Mercer's sword came down once, twice, three times on the creature's head.

It fell, skull caved inwards.

Issana had her hands over her mouth in horror, muffling her shrieks of hysteria. Mercer sprang at her and added his own hand to silence her even further. "That's enough!"

His voice seemed to be coming from far away. Mercer dropped his lantern, grabbed her shoulder and shook her violently. "Issana!"

Her voice quieted. Mercer released her. Her heartbeat didn't steady, but she regained enough control to point at the corpse and stammer between gasps, "What-what is that?"

Mercer glanced over at it. "A draugr."

"What-" she forced out, "-in Oblivion-is a _draugr?_"

"Be _quiet!_" Mercer hissed. "Do you want to wake more of them?"

Issana stared at him. "_More?_"

"More." Mercer stood up. "Just be careful. And follow my lead."

"You didn't want to _warn _me?" Issana spat. She could feel her fear being driven away by fury. "Maybe a simple 'By the way, Issana, watch where you step because the bloody dead _aren't bloody dead!_'" Her voice went shrill and she could feel the hysteria threatening to return.

"That's _enough!_ By Oblivion, girl, I thought you'd be braver. Get up."

"_Braver!?_" Issana exclaimed. "That's a corpse, you bastard! A living, walking corpse that tried to kill me!"

"Yes. Now if you don't want to get us both killed, would you please _shut up?_"

Issana bit back a retort. _Fine, you son of a bitch. But I swear, if you get me killed here…_ She got up and looked around for her sword. The draugr had fallen on top of it. _Damn it._ Issana grabbed the hilt, trying not to look at the withered body, and pulled.

The draugr moved. Issana threw herself backwards and clamped her teeth shut against the shriek that threatened to burst free again.

Mercer stared at her, hands holding onto the draugr's grotesque limbs as he rolled it over again to move it out of the way. _Really? _he mouthed, and thrust the handle of her sword at her. Issana hesitated for a long moment, then took it gingerly.

_Why in Oblivion did you bring me, Mercer? If you knew these-these things were going to be here, you knew I was going to be useless. You should have warned me! You-you…_

Her thoughts trailed away. Mercer was already gone, his faint lamp swaying back and forth again as he hunted for the room's exit. Issana stayed where she was. _You want me to go blundering around in the dark with those things around? No. Not going to happen._

"Here," Mercer whispered.

Issana crossed the room towards him as his candlelight disappeared around a corner. _Damn it, Mercer. _She hurried and caught up with him at the top of another staircase. It was wide enough that the light from their candles didn't reach the walls to either side. "Mercer."

He looked at her, his expression showing his irritation.

"What else haven't you told me?"

"Nothing."

"Damn it, Mercer! You haven't told me anything! So start talking. What did Karliah mean by 'Where the end began'? What is this place? And how is she here with these draugr? Is she controlling them?"

Mercer clenched his teeth, but relented. "She means the Guild. She wants to end us, and this is where she began it when she murdered Gallus." He paused to listen for a moment. "And no, she isn't controlling the draugr. She just knows how to hide here without waking them."

"Like not knocking into bone rattles?"

Mercer glared at her. "I wasn't expecting it. Karliah set it so we'd wake the draugr."

"Won't they kill her too? Why don't we just wake them all and leave?"

"Because I need to _know_ that this is over. And Maven won't believe it unless we bring back Karliah's head."

"Lovely. I don't want to carry it."

Mercer took a single step onto the staircase. "Be careful. It won't just be Karliah's traps down here. The ancient Nords weren't exactly friendly to grave robbers."

_No, I'm pretty sure the walking corpses made that clear_.

The silence seemed to grow thicker, darker, as they descended the stairs. Issana wished she could make a sound just to reassure herself that the world itself hadn't gone quiet but she dared not. Even Mercer seemed to become more on edge as they progressed. The further they went, the quieter she felt she had to be, for Divines only knew how many more of the creatures were lurking in the darkness. They could be right beside her, just inches beyond the glow of the candle, sleeping, just waiting for her to make a sound.

That was the thing about darkness. You didn't know what was out there.

It was that much worse when you knew that there _was_ something, but you didn't know where.

One of the boys at the orphanage had told stories about monsters in the dark when they were children. Grelod locked him in the cellar with all the rats. He didn't tell stories after that.

But this was real.

Had it been five minutes now? Fifteen? Issana didn't know. The staircase was still descending. The lamps cast flickering shapes on the stones around her, shadows that crawled like many-legged spiders.

When at last they reached the bottom, Issana stopped and let Mercer continue carefully forward, his hand holding out the lamp out to light the way. He stopped as the glow washed over a heavy set of double doors. Some of the wood had rotted away, leaving dark holes like empty eyes staring back at them. Mercer studied it, unmoving.

Issana strained her eyes to the left and tried to see the wall. She couldn't. She took a small step. Still no wall. The candlelight rippled on the floor. Another step. There was something, some sort of darker space. Another step.

Just at the edge of the glow Issana could see stone. The wall had a gap in it, too straight to be damage but too narrow to be another hall. The candle glinted off something within the opening. Issana hesitated. Metal? Water?

One last step.

And then she saw it. A statue. A man, tall, standing straight, clasping a sword vertically with its point resting on the raised floor of the niche in which he stood. His face was dark beneath his horned helmet.

But in the candlelight, Issana could see his hands. They were grey, dessicated. Dead.

Draugr.

Issana stumbled back in shock. She collided with Mercer and they both whirled. _Draugr!_ Issana mouthed, pointing over her shoulder. Mercer nodded and gestured to the opposite wall. _There too._

Issana raised her sword questioningly but Mercer shook his head and pointed at the door. He mimed opening and closing it and pointed at the little pouch of thieves' tools Issana kept at her belt. Issana knew immediately what he meant and withdrew two vials of oil. She handed one over.

But to apply it to the hinges… That meant crouching in the shadow of the draugr, letting it loom over her and stare at her back with its soulless eye sockets…

_I thought you'd be braver._ Mercer's words echoed through her mind. Issana gritted her teeth. _So did I._

There was no alternative. Mercer was already setting his lamp down to start on the right side. Issana swallowed hard and stepped up to the left. She put her lamp down without a sound and cast a look over her shoulder. She couldn't see the draugr. But she knew it was there.

She uncorked the vial and dripped it over the hinges. For all she knew Karliah might have already done this, but it was better to waste a bit of oil than to guess wrong and have the door wail when it was opened. She spread the oil across the hinges with practiced fingers. It didn't take long. She wiped the last bit off her fingers with her shirt before stepping back towards the centre of the hall, and Mercer joined her thirty seconds later. Issana felt a bit of smug satisfaction, her fear momentarily eclipsed by the knowledge that she was so much better at this than Mercer.

Mercer grabbed one door and beckoned for Issana to take the other. _One,_ he mouthed. _Two…_

On three they both pulled. The doors swung apart, only the faintest squeal from Mercer's side breaking the silence. They stepped through and tugged the doors closed behind them.

Issana stood perfectly still for a long moment, listening. There was no sound from the other side of the door. The draugr seemed content to remain asleep. Mercer looked at the door, then at her, and his shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief.

Issana turned to survey the room as best she could, but the candlelight revealed nothing. She stepped forward, eyes struggling to pierce the gloom.

That was when she hit the tripwire.


	34. A Fight in the Depths

She didn't see what happened next, but she heard it. There was a snapping noise from away on the right, then a crack, and then the sound was drowned out by the crash of falling metal like someone had knocked over an armory. She shot a panicked look at Mercer, whose eyes were just as wide. The crashing went on for two long seconds, followed by one last bang.

Then nothing.

But Issana wasn't stupid. That tripwire had been set here for a reason. One, two, three, _four_ growls came out of the darkness.

Mercer grabbed her by the shoulder. "Corner!" He started dragging her towards the left, away from three of the growls. They didn't get far. The candlelight flickered against a wall, into which were carved horizontal niches where linen-wrapped bodies rested.

At least these looked actually dead.

The first draugr shambled out of the darkness. Mercer swung without giving it a chance to close the distance but the sword rang loudly off the creature's upheld shield. Mercer's eyes went wide with panic as the draugr's own sword came down on him. He twisted and it hit the wall instead with a flash of sparks. The rusty blade snapped off at the hilt.

Issana shrank back into the corner. She _should_ help, she knew it, but if she did then the only thing she'd accomplish would be her own death.

But when the second draugr appeared beside her, she didn't have a choice. Its joints creaked, its breath rasped through broken teeth and one eye still hung from withered muscle in its skull. It swung. Issana shoved herself away from the wall and the axe clanged off the stone. She raised her sword and caught the next blow awkwardly; pain shot through her wrist and her weapon dropped. The draugr loomed over her, axe raised, and she kicked out with all her might. Her foot caught the monster in its sunken gut.

"Run!" Mercer bellowed. "_RUN!_"

He dove through the oncoming draugr and Issana leaped after him, narrowly avoiding a sword thrust that would have gone right through her. Mercer took off down the passage, sprinting in the dark with the hungry snarls of the draugr echoing just behind them. Issana overtook him without noticing and almost immediately had to vault a mound of rubble that had dropped out of the ceiling.

She barely had time to thrust her hands out to protect her as she slammed into a wall. Mercer collided with her and she heard him cry out in pain. She shoved him off, ignoring the pain that lanced through her arms, and whipped around. The snarls of the draugr, mixed in with the unsteady thud of their shambling run, were getting closer.

It was definitely more than four now.

Mercer's gaze snapped around. "Dead end!"

Issana held her lantern high, panic making her movements jerky, and she realized that a pile of broken stone to her left was actually all that remained of a former passage. She glanced up. There was a dark gap near the ceiling, just big enough for someone to squeeze through. "Mercer!"

Mercer threw his sword through the hole and scrambled up the rubble. The snarls were getting nearer. Issana gave her lamp a quick glance and hurled it back down the passage. The candle lasted just long enough to collide with a shambling figure no more than ten feet away.

"Mercer, move!"

He was halfway through the hole when she shoved him. His legs disappeared into the darkness just as Issana sprang up the debris after him. She reached through the space, grabbed onto the first solid thing she could, and pulled.

White-hot pain slashed across her leg and she cried out and tumbled into the passage on the other side. She hit the ground hard and immediately rolled onto her back, clutching her leg. Mercer seized her by the shirt and dragged her backwards along the ground, away from the collapse. Her eyes were clenched shut against the pain and she hardly noticed the bumps and scrapes as she was dragged, but she could feel warm blood oozing over her hand.

She cried out as Mercer pulled her over a stair. Then another. Pain lanced through her as her back collided with the stone each time. "Merc-" she started, but her voice turned into a grunt as she tipped down a third stair. "Mercer! Stop!"

Mercer released her. "I think we're safe for now. I don't hear them."

Issana rotated on the steps as best she could, wincing at the pain. "You son of a bitch. Jump through first and leave me?" She pressed her hand against the wound in her leg. It was long, but not too deep.

_Definitely bleeding a lot, though._

"I didn't stop to think," Mercer replied. "I'm not sorry."

"Of course not. So now you're just going to drag me down the stairs, is that it?"

Mercer grunted in disgust and knelt down below her. "Shut up. There could be more of them." He drew a knife, reached up and cut a long piece of fabric from her clothes. Issana felt her breath hiss out with pain as Mercer wound it tightly around the wound.

Issana tested her leg gingerly once he'd finished. It hurt, but it was bearable. _I'll get it seen too properly when we're out of here._

"Where's your light?" Mercer demanded.

"I dropped it."

Mercer swore. "Stay close, then."

Issana tested her leg again. It twinged painfully, like someone was holding onto her skin and twisting with metal pincers. _I can handle it._ She took a few steps and caught herself against the wall as she stumbled.

Mercer gave an exasperated grunt and stepped up beside her. "Hold on to me."

"I've got it."

"No, you don't." He reached for her arm. She jerked it away.

"I said, I've got it." Issana clenched her teeth and took a few more steps, adjusting her balance each time. She didn't fall.

"We must be getting near the central crypt," said Mercer. "Karliah will be in the treasure chamber just behind it."

"Know that for a fact, do you?" grunted Issana.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure. She'll have left all manner of surprises for us in the crypt."

"Perfect."

The passage was long and straight. Mercer led the way with his lamp held out in front and Issana followed just behind. Her whole body was starting to hurt in one way or another. Her leg stung, her arms throbbed from hitting the wall, and her back ached from something that she didn't even remember.

She stopped.

Mercer turned around. "What?"

"Do you hear that?"

Mercer frowned and listened intently. "No."

Issana frowned. The sound was gone. But she could have sworn she'd heard a voice - or several - murmur something out of the darkness.

Mercer turned slowly back towards the passage and started moving once more

There it was again, like voices, breathing out whispered words in the dark. Issana touched Mercer on the shoulder. He glared at her.

_Doh..._

"Listen!"

_Vah..._

Mercer looked confused. "I don't hear-"

_KIIN_

Issana jumped. "You must have heard that."

"Heard what?"

Issana looked around. The voice was gone again. "But..."

"Let me check your wound."

"I'm fine."

"Clearly not." Mercer pushed her roughly onto the floor and held his lamp to the bandage. Blood was seeping through, dying the fabric red. Issana winced as he loosened the wrapping to examine the cut. "It looks fine," he said as he bound it up again. "Though I don't envy the fight with lockjaw you'll have after that rusty blade." He pulled her upright, ignoring her hiss of pain. "But you're hearing things. Ignore it."

They proceeded down the passage. Issana couldn't hear the whispers. Maybe Mercer was right and she was hearing things after all-

_Doh..._

_Damn it._

_Vah..._

_No._

_Kiin..._

_Not listening._

It was getting louder. Mercer stopped her with one hand and said nothing, just pointed ahead. The hallway ended and opened into nothing but darkness.

He beckoned her forwards and stepped into the room. With his sword, he pointed to the right and set off in that direction. Issana followed.

He stopped so suddenly Issana almost knocked into him. He lifted his foot with exaggerated caution and put it down just ahead. The tripwire hardly cast a shadow in the candlelight. Issana stepped over it too.

Mercer turned left. Issana couldn't see where they were going, but she guessed by Mercer's actions that they were going around some large structure in the centre of the chamber.

_Dovahkiin._

_Dovahkiin._

_DOVAHKIIN._

Issana jumped as the last whisper roared like a wind through the chamber. Mercer whirled on her. _Enough!_ he mouthed at her.

Issana didn't respond. The whispers had become constant now, and although she could still make out that word, it quickly being drowned out by what might as well have been a whole room full of people murmuring to one another. She stared at Mercer, a look of fear on her face. _What am I hearing?_

Mercer turned around without a word, then immediately held out an arm to stop her. He lowered the light to illuminate a place on the floor where the dust had not been disturbed. Keeping the light low, he crept to the right until he reached the edge of the room. The candle glinted off something metal, and when Issana looked closer she saw a massive iron grate suspended from the wall, covered with spikes almost as long as her forearm.

No, not suspended. On a post, so it could rotate.

Issana made the connection at once. Trigger the trap and the grate would swing out.

_Dovahkiin._

Issana looked to the right. The voices were coming from there, she knew it. She paused and rubbed her eyes for a second. Was that some sort of blue light? No, it was gone.

_Am I delirious?_

Mercer grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her forwards.

The whispers were getting faster.

Mercer turned left.

_Dovahkiin-dovahkiin-dovahkiin_

Blue light flared to the right with a crack like fire. Issana's hand shot up to shield her eyes as some unseen force wrenched her towards it. Through her fingers she could see symbols carved into the wall, ancient runes burning with blue moonlight, and she couldn't stop herself. She stumbled forwards. Her outstretched hand pressed against the runes.

Thunder exploded around her. There was light, red light, blazing as brightly as if she'd been hurled into a furnace. She could hear the roar of the flames, could feel the heat, could smell the smoke.

Lightning shattered the sky into pieces. White lines flashed across black clouds in every direction.

But not in front of her. There the lightning was hidden, masked behind an immense dark shape. Great, bat-like wings were stretched wide, a serpentine neck rose high, and from its jaws leapt a stream of flame so high that its brightness hid the lightning.

And then it was gone. There was silence and utter darkness.

Mercer grabbed her and heaved her upright, and it was only then that Issana realized she'd fallen down. She felt blood on her arm and saw in Mercer's lamplight a pile of destroyed urns, broken into pieces and spilling ash across the floor. Mercer was yelling something but she couldn't understand him.

A force like thunder caught her in the chest and hurled her backwards. She hit the ground and tumbled until her back hit the rune-carved wall with Mercer sprawled beside her. He shoved himself upright, blood oozing from his forehead.

Issana could hear the draugr now, a hungry snarl from off in the darkness. And it was _laughing_. There was real cruelty in the noise. Mercer pointed left and tore off to the right. Issana saw his light charge towards the growling, saw it glint off metal in the darkness, and saw the monster.

It was tall, even taller than the others. Seven feet at least, and its already massive stature was furthered by the twin horns sprouting upwards from its black helmet, and protecting its mummified body was a heavy chestplate. Mercer dodged sideways as the thing swung its sword down on him with both hands, and in one quick movement drove his sword underneath the draugr's armor.

The draugr paused, regarding Mercer with a slow stare. Mercer remained frozen.

"Fus... RO DAH!"

The voice rippled like thunder. Mercer went flying. His lantern hit the wall and broke; Issana heard his body hit stone with a thump. The candle from his lamp rolled feebly about on the floor, far from the draugr and leaving the creature invisible.

But she could hear it. Its armor clanked and snarls tore from its throat as it charged towards her from the darkness. Issana ran. She took off to the left, back the way they'd come, trying to get as much space between-

"FUS RO DAH!"

The force of the magic caught Issana's shoulder and whipped her around so hard she hit the ground. She felt blood on her face and she crawled, trying to get up but dazed from the impact. The draugr's hungry sounds were getting nearer and nearer-

It was on her in an instant. She rolled just in time and the sword clanged off the floor. The draugr snarled. She rose, trying to stand, and took the thing's armored boot right in the face. Her head snapped back and she fell onto her elbows.

Right onto the dust-covered trigger.

"FUS-"

The spiked grate swung like a hammer. Issana hit the floor, feeling the air shriek as it slammed past overhead. The draugr took it full on, the spikes punching through its armor and slamming it into the wall with a bone-shattering crunch.

Issana lay there for a few long seconds. Her hands were trembling and her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. No noise came from the draugr.

Mercer appeared at her side a moment later, the candle held in his right hand. His sword was sheathed and his left arm looked limp.

"Are you wounded?" he said.

"Not badly." She looked at his arm. "You?"

Mercer nodded. "We'd better get a move on. No knowing how many draugr this thing woke up. I want to deal with Karliah and get out of here."

Issana eyed him skeptically. "Are you sure you can handle her?"

"She's a thief, not a fighter. I'll be fine. Get up."

Issana rose. Mercer led the way, limping at first but quickly regaining his stride, towards the central structure that Issana couldn't see. In the flickering candlelight she saw a rickety wooden ramp that went up into the gloom. Mercer stepped onto it.

The ramp led onto the top of a raised platform about twenty feet high, where a sarcophagus lay smashed open.

"How long was I out for?" said Issana.

Mercer turned to face her. "Yes, about that... You want to tell me what in _Oblivion_ that was? You were just-blank! For ten seconds! And then you fell onto the urns-"

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I... I saw things, heard things, and then it was over. It's gone now."

Mercer stared at her.

"Mercer, what do you want me to say? I _don't know_. Just let it go."

Mercer's eyes narrowed. "You'd better be more careful in the future."

There was a narrow stone bridge crossing from the platform to an opening in the far wall. They crossed quickly. The hall on the other side was short, only twenty feet from end to end, and it led to a door.

And what a door it was. It had to be a door, but it didn't look like any door Issana had ever seen. It was circular, formed of some dark stone and shaped in three concentric rings. Each ring was adorned with an image of some animal, and at the centre of the rings was a round plate with three holes.

Issana looked it over in the candlelight. "You want me to pick that?"

"No," said Mercer. "You wouldn't be able to. Fortunately," he added, reaching into his shirt and lifting out a necklace, "we don't have to."

Issana caught sight of some sort of talisman attached to the necklace but Mercer seemed to be deliberately hiding it from view. He examined the door. "Karliah is on the other side of this door. Follow my lead, understand? No - and I mean _no_ - mistakes. Got it?"

Issana nodded and tried to peer around him at the thing in his hand. He blocked her view and glared at her. "Do you mind?"

"What is that?"

"A tool. For locks like this."

"Can I see it?"

"No."

Issana rolled her eyes and stepped back. She started pacing back and forth in the dim light. _This is it. Karliah's on the other side of that door._ She looked over at Mercer as his hands drifted over the strange stonework. _You'd better be up for this, Mercer. If you've picked the wrong fight, I'm leaving._

"Yes!" Mercer jumped up as the rings of the door began to rotate. The grinding sound of stone on stone made Issana's teeth clench. Mercer pressed himself to one wall, pulled Issana up beside him and blew out the candle.

The grinding stopped with a thump, and there was silence for about a second. Issana looked towards Mercer but couldn't see him in the dark. The door began to grind again and light flooded into the hallway as the whole thing just sank into the floor. The smell of firewood washed over them. "She's here," Mercer said softly. He edged towards the door. "Stay behind me. I'll go in first and-"

Issana cried out in surprise as Mercer seized her by the shoulder and threw her bodily through the doorway.

A bow snapped.

An arrow hissed.

The cry died on her lips. She stared down, eyes unfocused, at the shaft growing from her middle.

_What..._

She swayed, and the floor rushed up to meet her.


	35. Betrayal

Mercer sprang over her as she hit the floor. She didn't feel the impact; a numbness was sweeping through her body like ice water in a winter stream and she couldn't move. She saw Mercer press himself against a stone column, trying to keep a barrier between himself and Karliah.

Issana could see Karliah too. The dunmer was shrouded in shadow, the dancing light of the campfire casting orange light over her dark features. She had a second arrow nocked to her bow.

Issana couldn't move her head to look down. She didn't know how deep the arrow had gone, how much she was bleeding, or if she'd snapped the shaft in her fall. She couldn't feel any of it, and yet somehow she could still see and hear.

_Am I dying?_

_I can't tell._

She tried to speak but couldn't move her lips and couldn't even tell if she was still breathing.

"Karliah," Mercer said.

"Mercer," Karliah replied, sighting down her arrow.

"It's been a long time."

"Ten years, Mercer. I've had time to plan."

Mercer nodded. "Yes, I noticed. Buying Goldenglow? Funding Honningbrew? You've got Maven royally angry with me. Well done."

Karliah began to skirt around the fire. Mercer moved with her, keeping the pillar between them. "To ensure an enemy's defeat," Karliah said, "you must first undermine his allies. It was the first lesson Gallus taught us."

"I remember."

Karliah wrenched her bow back to full draw. "You son of a bitch. He was your friend!"

Mercer snorted. "Don't be a child, Karliah. We don't have the luxury of friends. Gallus would have done the same. He'd have even turned on you in the end."

Karliah stepped wide but Mercer had shifted again. "You're wrong."

Issana's vision was growing dimmer and her thoughts were clouding. Mercer was edging out of her line of vision as Karliah reversed direction, heading back around the campfire.

"Where the end began," Mercer said. "Fitting poetry. But I think it's time for it to truly end."

He moved like lightning. Karliah's bow twanged but Mercer was too quick. The arrow broke against the stone and Mercer came up from his roll, sword drawn.

Karliah vanished. Smoke curled from where she'd stood, rising slowly and mixing in with the smoke of the campfire.

"I'm no fool, Mercer." Her voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. "Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I swear to you, the next time we meet will be your undoing."

Mercer charged. He swung his sword wildly at the smoky remnants and cleaved nothing but air. "_NO!_" His gaze snapped violently around the room. "You _bitch!_ Come back here! I'll send you off to meet your bastard lover! _RAGH!_" He kicked the campfire, spraying embers and ash across the floor. "Damn you! Damn you to Oblivion! Run to your precious Nocturnal then! I'll still-" He doubled over as coughs from the ash wracked his body.

Darkness was closing in around Issana's vision. Mercer's choking sounds were fading, muffled as she began to lose consciousness. Mercer stalked over to her, spitting ash from his lips. His eyes were lit with fury. "And you… At least I'll be rid of you." He put his boot against her shoulder and shoved her onto her back.

Issana could see little more than a dark outline. His sword glinted in the scattered campfire as its point came to rest over her heart.

She couldn't move.

Couldn't scream.

Mercer thrust. The room jarred as the impact rocked her body.

He stabbed again.

And again.

And then…

Nothing.


	36. The Truth Revealed

Darkness.

It's like a fog. Its tendrils are searching, spreading, winding, constricting.

Choking.

It's everywhere.

There's no sound, no thought.

A light flares. Red light, like the last breath of the embers of a dying fire, begins to seep into the fog. The fog steams, recoils.

There's a shape in the glow. A woman. Old. A hooked nose protrudes like a beak from her face and above it, cruel eyes glitter.

She has a switch.

_Grelod._

The woman stalks forward with the switch gripped tightly in one hand.

"Issana..." she whispers. Her voice is cold. "I know you're in here. Come out!" Her eyes flash and she raps the switch gently across her palm. "Or you'll get double the thrashing."

She smiles. "There you are. Good girl."

_SNAP_

Pain makes white lightning flash through the sky.

_SNAP_

A cry. A whimper.

_SNAP_

_SNAP_

_SNAP_

Lightning tears the sky apart with each swing. Grelod's dark shape is illuminated like some kind of terrible angel, black against the light yet ringed with white fire. She stretches her arms wide.

But they aren't arms anymore. They're wings. Grelod is gone, replaced by a monstrous silhouette. The wings beat the air once, twice, three times and the beast rises into the lightning-filled sky.

It plunges. Fire roars from its jaws, boiling away the last of the darkness with a stream of orange light. The heat burns.

And it is gone. The darkness returns. Silence is unbroken.

Steel rasps from a sheath.

And suddenly Mercer lunges from the dark. His sword thrusts forward.

Pain.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling...

"Watch her! She's waking up!"

The room was blurry, filled with fog. Points of light blossomed into existence nearby, painfully bright, and the room seemed to shift and whirl with every second.

"Issana? Issana, can you hear me?"

Issana shut her eyes against the bright light.

She opened them again. The room was a little clearer.

"Issana?"

A few more times and the room cleared. Issana tilted her head slightly to look at the speaker.

"Kar... Karliah?"

The dark elf nodded.

"Where... Where am I?"

"In Windhelm," said a voice. It was a man's voice. "The White Phial. I owed Karliah a favor."

Issana looked the other way and saw a young man, maybe in his mid-thirties, sitting in a chair. A few empty vials sat on a table in front of him, along with several sprigs of dried plant.

"What's the White Phial?" Issana sat up slightly to get a better look at her surroundings and hissed with pain.

"_What's the White Phial?_" exclaimed an indignant voice. An elderly elf leaned around the doorframe, his green-brown skin well-worn with age. "You don't-"

The young man raised his hands placatingly. "It's all right, master. She was only asking about the shop."

The elf scowled and ducked out of sight.

"Shop?" Issana said

The man nodded. "The White Phial is an alchemy shop. Nurelion - who you just met - has owned it for decades. I came here to study under him. He's..." He have a little chuckle. "He's not the best teacher. My name is Quintus, by the way."

"How did I get here?"

Quintus glanced over at Karliah. "I think she can answer that better than I can."

Karliah nodded. "The poison on my arrow saved your life. It kept you from bleeding out while I dragged you back here."

"But... you shot me."

"I shot the first person who came through the door. It should have been Mercer. But that bastard is just as treacherous as ever."

Issana opened her mouth to speak but the pain in her chest made her stop. She saw Karliah and Quintus exchange meaningful stares.

"I should probably explain from the beginning," Karliah said. She leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed. "I smeared that arrowhead with a paralytic poison. It was supposed to incapacitate Mercer so I could drag him back to the Guild and expose him. But I hit you instead. At that point I knew I couldn't beat him; that first shot was what I'd counted on. So I fled. I hoped Mercer would think you were dead, but he wanted to be sure. Unfortunately."

"Put his blade through your heart, your right lung and you don't even want to know what else," said Quintus. "Karliah's poison kept you sedated so you didn't bleed to death. She got you back here in time for me to apply some healing salves. I have to admit, I didn't think you'd make it."

"She still might not," said Karliah.

Quintus shrugged. "She's awake. That's a start."

Issana shifted painfully in the bed and frowned. Something felt... odd. She peered under the sheets.

She was wearing three sets of bandages, and nothing else. "I'm not wearing any clothes..."

Quintus laughed loudly. "Kid, I've been staring at your guts for two weeks. The stuff on the outside doesn't really matter."

"Two weeks?" Issana exclaimed. She winced as the outburst sent pain lancing through her chest.

Quintus nodded. "It's been tough work keeping you alive. We've kept asleep so you wouldn't make it harder."

"But I'm recovering?"

"I think so. Karliah's not too sure, but then she's a thief and I'm an alchemist, so it is what it is."

Issana rolled slightly to look at Karliah. "Why did you bring me back here?"

"I need you alive."

"Why?"

Karliah glanced over at Quintus. The man rose and left the room. "Mercer escaped," said Karliah. "He'll tell everyone that I killed you, make you a martyr and turn everyone there against me. You can expose him."

Issana snorted and lay her head back on the pillow. "Right. I should have guessed. Mercer's using me to turn the Guild against you and you want to use me to turn the Guild against him. I'm just another piece in the game."

"Don't compare me to him," snapped Karliah. "I want justice. And yes, you're my way to get it. But don't think that I'm just like Mercer. That bastard killed Gallus and I mean to see him pay for it."

"So that's what really happened?" Issana said. "Mercer killed Gallus and blamed you? Why?"

"Mercer was stealing money from the Guild. A little here, a lot there. Gallus caught onto him. We... used to use Snow Veil Sanctum as a meeting place - Gallus, Mercer and I. Gallus had his guard down." Karliah closed her eyes for a moment. "But Mercer will pay. We'll expose everything he's done, and when the Guild sees what he's done, I'll put an arrow in his heart." She looked towards the door. "Quintus!"

Quintus reappeared in the room. "Make something stronger," said Karliah. "I want her ready to ride within a week."

Quintus raised an eyebrow. "A week?"

"Fine, two. Just make sure she's ready to go. I don't want her dying on me halfway to Riften."

Issana grimaced as pain pulsed through her body. "Yes, I'd hate to be a nuisance that way."

Karliah glared at her. "Look, kid. I didn't save you for some mysterious bout of altruism. I need you to expose Mercer. Deal with it."

Issana let her head fall back onto the pillow. _I know. You don't need to keep reminding me._


	37. Baggage

Rain thundered down in the Rift. It beat a rhythm on the trees, spattering off the leaves and splashing into pools in the road. The midday sun was hidden behind clouds so thick it seemed like evening, clouds that seemed to mingle with the grey-white fog that blanketed the ground.

Issana could hardly keep track of time anymore. Two weeks she'd spent in Windhelm, most of them bed-bound. It had only been for the last few days of her stay that she'd been allowed to stretch her legs. Her wounds still hurt, but Quintus seemed to have done his job well.

But riding... Riding hurt. Every step of the horse jolted her, usually bearable but every once in awhile sending shards of pain stabbing through her. Karliah was taking it easy, but Issana suspected it was more out of kindness for the horse they both rode than for Issana herself.

She shifted awkwardly and hung onto Karliah tightly. The elf had hardly spoken as they'd rode south. When she had, it was terse, cold, little different from Mercer but at least without the sneers. But that was all Issana had expected. Karliah had made it pretty clear when they'd left Windhelm that she was baggage.

At this point, though, it just felt... normal. Like it just made sense that way. In a world like this, you didn't keep people around unless they had skills or some other use. She'd proven her worth to the Guild time and again with heists and other jobs, so of course they valued her, but to Mercer she'd turned out to be more useful dead. And to Karliah she was more useful alive. It all came down to usefulness.

_Nothing personal._

It was a funny expression, one that she and other Guild members had used time and time again, often with a roguish smile at a job's hapless victim. _Sorry I'm stealing all your jewelry. Nothing personal. Sorry I'm framing you to get you thrown in prison. Nothing personal._

What was it Brynjolf had said? Way back, when everything started: _Do this right, and I can promise you a place in our organization._

And that was just the way it was. Brynjolf, Delvin, Rune, they all cared that she was useful.

Nothing personal.

_I'm a set of skills. That's all. But you know what? There's nothing wrong with that._

_Is there?_


	38. Return

The door to the Ragged Flagon flickered in the light of Karliah's lantern. "Do as I told you," Karliah said quietly. "You're the best shot I've got at this. Don't," she added, "mess this up."

Issana swallowed hard. Her hand seemed to have already found the handle on its own. She didn't turn it.

"What's the matter with you, girl?" said Karliah. "Open the damn door."

Issana didn't move.

"What in Oblivion is wrong with you?"

Issana was frozen, mind blank, and she had no idea why. She saw her hand trembling but it didn't register.

"Oh," Karliah said. "Mercer."

Issana let go of the handle and her hand swung limply to her side. "I can't."

Karliah snorted. "By Nocturnal, girl, grow up. This isn't-"

Issana's hands shot out and shoved Karliah in the chest. "Yeah? Maybe next time _you_ should be the one lying there helpless, watching as someone _kills you._ Maybe then you'll have an idea what this is like, you bitch. Seeing it in your nightmares, over and over again; once _you_ deal with that you can lecture me."

"Oh, please," said Karliah. "You don't know anything about me. But if you want to just sit here sniveling and let Mercer win, fine. I should have know better than to think you could-"

Issana felt the weeks of frustration suddenly snap inside her. Her fist collided with Karliah's jaw and sent the dark elf reeling. Issana spun, grabbed the door handle with white-knuckled anger, and threw it open.

The people at the tables looked up sharply at the sound. Issana froze as they all stared at her. Mercer was nowhere to be seen.

Dirge was leaning on the wall about halfway around the water. He glanced lazily over at her, then looked back down at the ground.

His gaze shot up again, eyes wide. "But you..." He stared at her. "Brynjolf! It's..." His voice died away.

Brynjolf was leaning over a table, peering across the pool, but he didn't seem to believe what he was seeing. He shoved himself away from the table and walked cautiously around the walkway towards them. "By the gods..." he whispered. "But how? Mercer-"

Issana flinched involuntarily.

"-Mercer said that Karliah had..." Brynjolf stopped midstride, about five feet from her, and stared over her shoulder at Karliah.

His hand dropped to the knife at his belt. "Issana... What's going on? Why is she here?"

Issana took a deep breath. "Karliah saved my life. After Mercer tried to kill me."

Brynjolf's jaw hung half-open. "What?"

"Mercer used me as bait. Then he tried to finish me off."

Brynjolf's expression became a mask of confusion as he struggled to understand. "But - but - _why?_ That makes _no_ sense! Why-"

"I can answer that," said Karliah. She stepped forward and reached into her belt. Brynjolf backed away but Karliah held out a small, leather-bound book.

"That's... that's Gallus' journal," said Brynjolf.

"Yes, it is. Take it."

Brynjolf reached out his hand and hesitated. He glanced at Issana, then took the book.

"The last entries are the ones you need to see," said Karliah.

Brynjolf opened the journal and flipped to the end. His eyes flicked back and forth across the pages. "No..." he breathed. "It can't be. This can't be true." He snapped the book closed. "I've known Mercer too long."

"He tried to kill me, Brynjolf," said Issana.

"Brynjolf, you knew me," said Karliah. "You knew..." There was a note of pleading in her voice. "You knew what Gallus was to me. You know I would have never-"

Brynjolf clenched the book tightly. "I know."

Delvin had appeared behind Brynjolf and leaned around him. "What's in that book, Brynjolf? What did it say?"

Brynjolf turned and slapped the book against Delvin's chest. "Mercer killed Gallus."

"What?"

"Read it. You know Gallus' writing as well as I do. Mercer's been stealing from the vault. Gallus was getting close to exposing him."

"Bastard!" Delvin threw the journal onto the floor. "I knew it!"

Dirge thumped his fist against his palm. "Should we go have a little chat?"

Delvin and Brynjolf drew their blades. "Aye," said Brynjolf. "Let's see what he has to say for himself."

"Be careful," said Karliah. "I'm the only one who's ever faced Mercer before, and that was ten years ago. He's more dangerous than ever."

"We'll handle him," said Dirge, cracking his knuckles.

"Come on, Issana," Brynjolf said. "He won't be able to talk his way out if you're there to tell the truth."

Issana swallowed hard and didn't move.

Brynjolf frowned. "Everything all right, lass?"

A brief image of Mercer standing over her flashed through her mind.

"We'll be with you, lass," Brynjolf said. "He won't even get close." He turned and led the way. Karliah grabbed Issana by the arm and pulled her with them.

Vex nearly collided with them as she exited the passage to the cistern. "What's going on? Mercer's packing bags and - _daedra!_" Vex stared at Issana. "What in-"

"Bastard's running for it!" snarled Brynjolf. He sprinted down the hallway with Delvin, Dirge and Karliah right behind. The door to the cistern flew open and they piled into the chamber.

Mercer was nowhere in sight. His desk was in disarray and his personal effects were strewn across the floor, but there was no sign of him. "Damn it," hissed Brynjolf. He threw his dagger at the floor. "_Damn it!_"

"Brynjolf, what in Oblivion is going on?" Vex pushed her way towards him.

"Get everyone in here," snapped Brynjolf. "There's something you all need to know."


	39. Someone with your Skills

The cistern of the Thieves' Guild was quietly tense. Most of the Guild sat in silence, stunned at the news Brynjolf had delivered. Mercer, stealing from the Guild? Mercer, the one who had gotten them in so well with Maven, who'd talked the Guild out of trouble time and time again?

The news that he'd murdered Gallus had created a variety of reactions. Most of the Guild were fresh enough to have never met him and seemed more surprised than angry. But those who'd known Gallus personally - Brynjolf, Delvin, Tonilia, Vex, and Vekel - their reactions were bordering on violent.

Vex sat at a table, gouging huge chunks out of the wood with a knife. Her expression indicated pretty clearly that she was picturing more than a table. Tonilia was across from her, five daggers spread across the tabletop while she honed a sixth in perfect rhythm. Vekel had spent a few minutes violently kicking a chair around until it shattered; now he was throwing the pieces into the cistern's central pool.

Delvin, Brynjolf and Karliah conversed in hushed tones at the mess that had been Mercer's desk. Issana wasn't quite close enough to hear, seated next to Rune on one of the beds.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

Issana looked up. "What?"

"You're wincing when you move."

"I got stabbed, Rune."

Rune chuckled. "I know. I just want to make sure you're all right."

"Well, I'm not. And I'd really rather not talk about it."

"I understand. I do. But if you ever want to, you know I'm here, right?"

Issana said nothing.

"Issana?" Rune shifted a little closer to her.

Brynjolf glanced up from Mercer's desk. "Issana." He beckoned her over. Issana rose quickly, wincing at the stabs of pain, and strode towards him.

"We're going after Mercer," Brynjolf said. "We've got to deal with him before he turns Maven on us. He's got plenty of money." He scowled. "Money that should be in our vault right now."

He gestured for her to sit at one of the stools. "Karliah and I are going after him. We've got more reason than most to want to take him down. I want you to come."

Issana leaped up from the stool and inadvertently sent it clattering to the floor. "Why?"

"You want payback, don't you?"

Mercer's sword flashed through her thoughts again. _No. _She shook her head slowly and didn't miss Karliah's contemptuous look. _I don't think I could._

Brynjolf reached down and righted her stool. "Look, lass. We need someone with your skills. You can get us into places we can't."

_Someone with your skills._

_Not me._

_Anyone with my skills._

Issana shook her head again.

"What's the matter, lass?" said Brynjolf. "What's wrong?"

"She's terrified," said Karliah. "She's been this way since I got her healthy again. Nightmares, fits of panic, I spent weeks dealing with it on the way here. Are you sure it's wise to bring her?"

Brynjolf ignored her. "Talk to me, lass. What's wrong?"

"I don't think I can do this anymore, Brynjolf."

"What do you mean?"

Issana felt a lump growing in her throat. She blinked and felt tears beginning to form. "This." She gestured with a sweep of her arm. "I'm tired, Brynjolf. Tired of looking over my shoulder, tired of being _useful_, tired of-" She broke off and bit back a sob.

Brynjolf leaped up and grabbed her gently by the shoulders. "Slow down there, lass. Is this... because of Mercer?"

Issana shrugged him off and stepped back. "I'm sorry, Brynjolf. I can't. I just can't."

Brynjolf's hands fell to his sides. "You can't what?"

Issana swallowed hard and tried to stop her tears. "I…" She knew what she had to say and yet she didn't want to speak the words. "I'm leaving the Guild."

Even Vex stopped carving up the table as a stunned silence settled over the cistern. Brynjolf stared at Issana. "What?"

Issana looked down at the floor. Brynjolf stared at her for a long, long while. "Is that what you want?"

Issana squeezed her eyes shut, causing tears to roll down her cheeks again. She took a step backwards. Then two steps. Three steps.

"Fine," said Brynjolf. "Go on then. Leave."

"Issana, wait!" Rune crossed the room at a run. "Brynjolf doesn't mean-"

"Yes, I do," said Brynjolf. Rune looked at him, horrified, but Brynjolf turned away. "She doesn't need us anymore."

Issana opened her mouth to say something but no words came. Rune grabbed her by the shoulder. "Issana, I-"

Issana pushed his arm away. Her back hit the ladder out of the cistern. She turned and reached for the iron rungs, and hesitated.

"I thought you were one of us," Brynjolf said. Issana couldn't tell if it was anger or sadness in his voice.

It was probably anger.

_I thought I was too_.

She gripped the ladder and climbed.


	40. Childhood's End

It was still raining when Issana made it back into Riften's streets. Streams of water poured off the rooftops, splashing into pools in the uneven road. Issana didn't know where she was going - she could hardly see through the heavy rain and blurry tears - but her feet moved anyway. She circled the market, mostly empty save a few desperate merchants, and found herself drifting down a narrow alleyway.

Her thoughts were a blur. Echoes of her own words and Brynjolf's mingled with images of Karliah and Mercer.

She looked up. She'd stopped for some reason, in front of a building. It looked familiar, and even more than that it _felt_ familiar, but...

Of course. Of course her feet had led her here.

The orphanage was damp. And not just wet from the rain, but damp, like every piece of wood in its construction had been soaked through and rotted by water. The roof hung unevenly and rain was pooling in its sagging crevices. The weather vane on top was broken in half.

_I did that… _She smiled faintly, but it felt hollow.

Two of the windows were broken and covered over by misshapen planks of wood. The curtains inside were dark with mold and water stains.

A cry, muffled by closed doors, sounded out of the broken windows. It was followed by a sharp snapping noise which made Issana flinch. She knew that sound.

The cry came again. "Please!" A girl's voice, probably less than ten years old. "Stop! I'm sorry!"

"-teach you to steal food!"

_SNAP_

_SNAP_

Issana could feel the white-hot sting of the switch burned into her memory. Each snap sent the feeling lancing across her hands, her shoulders, her backside. Grelod's face flashed through her mind like lightning, appearing and vanishing with each sound of the switch.

The little girl's cry fluttered out of the orphanage again. For a moment Issana felt like she'd returned to the past and was somehow listening to herself all those years ago, begging, pleading, wishing someone would just _help_...

She didn't realize what she was doing until she was already at the door. The wood was old and weak and all it took was a strong shove from her shoulder to break it open. She hardly saw the floor, the walls, the familiar rooms; she could only hear the switch and the cry of the child.

_SNAP_

"Don't you crawl away from me!"

_SNAP_

_SNAP_

_SNAP_

Issana rounded the corner. She saw the girl, crouched on the floor protecting her head. She saw Grelod from behind, switch raised for another blow.

Issana caught Grelod's wrist before the blow could fall. Grelod turned her head slowly.

For the first time in five years, Issana was face to face with her nightmare.

Her grip faltered.

Grelod jerked her wrist free. "How _dare_ you?" she hissed. "This is _my_-" She stopped, head tilted to one side as she stared at Issana. "I… I remember you." Grelod tightened her grip on the switch. "You're one of mine."

Issana couldn't speak. She couldn't even look Grelod in the eye.

"How _dare_ you come back here?" Grelod spat. "When you leave this place, you don't _get _to come back! And you tried to grab me? You little bitch."

Issana didn't see the switch coming. But she felt it, a slashing pain across her face like someone had struck her with hot metal. She cried out and stumbled, raising her hands to protect herself.

Grelod waded in, swinging the switch. "I'll - teach - you - to - threaten - me!" Each word was punctuated with a crack of the switch. Issana couldn't see, couldn't feel anything besides the lightning flashes of pain across her arms and head. Grelod seemed to be a giant, towering over her like some vengeful god, driving her down into the floor. Issana tasted blood.

And then something inside her snapped.

She lunged. Her shoulder slammed into Grelod at the waist and Grelod shrieked, falling, arms flailing wildly in a futile attempt to stay upright-

Grelod hit the floor with a thud. Issana rose slowly, wiping blood from her face with one hand, and stared down at the old woman. "Don't… you… ever… hit me again…"

But Grelod wasn't moving. Her head lay tilted at an unnatural angle, propped up slightly by the hearth she'd fallen against.

_Oh gods… _Issana clapped a hand over her mouth. The little girl edged towards Grelod's unmoving form. "She's…" the girl said. "Is she dead?"

Issana backed away.

The girl grabbed the switch from where it had fallen and prodded Grelod's foot with it. Grelod didn't move. The old woman's eyes remained open, staring blankly into space.

"She's dead!" the little girl exclaimed. "Grelod is dead! Everyone! Grelod is _dead!_"

Children rushed into the room. They were pointing, yelling, _cheering_, but all Issana could see was the lifeless body against the wall.

Dead.

Dead.

_I killed her. _I _killed her._

_Gods… What have I done?_

_I killed her._

_I killed her._

_I killed..._


	41. Interlude III

I ran.

I ran until I couldn't breathe and I kept running. I didn't know where I was going, I didn't know where I could go. I killed someone. I took a life. There was no going back. I had to get away.

I ran deep into the forest. I could feel the branches whipping at my arms and face, could feel the stitch in my side, the cold air raw in my lungs as I gasped. I didn't stop. The rain soaked my hair, dripping into my eyes and blinding me. I ran.

Sometimes I wonder what I was running from. It might have been the guards that had heard the shouts from the orphanage. It might have been Maven, since she wasn't going to let me walk away from the Guild after all that had happened.

But I think, most of all, I was running from myself. From who I was in Riften. I was starting over.

I think fate disagreed.


	42. Dark Debts

Issana woke with a gasp. Cold air cut like a knife into her lungs as she breathed deep; she rolled onto her hands and knees and painful coughs wracked her body. Her arms stung. So did her face. She could see nothing; there was no light and no sign of the stars.

And she remembered little. A mad dash through the woods, then nothing. But this wasn't the forest. The ground beneath her hands was hard, wooden, like a floor.

"H-hello?" The voice was soft, timid, and came from somewhere behind her.

"Who's there?" she answered.

"I... My name is Alea. I think there are others but I don't know. Can you see anything?"

"No, it's too dark," said Issana.

"They blindfolded me," said the voice. "I thought I heard others."

"I'm here," came a second voice. "Fultheim."

Someone on Issana's right let out an unpleasant, hissing laugh. "Yes, why don't we all introduce ourselves... We are prisoners, you fools." His voice was accented. A khajit.

"Prisoners?" said Issana. "Whose?"

Flint struck steel behind them and light flooded the room. Issana whirled, shielding her eyes against the glare, and took in most of the room instantly. It was small, maybe a fifteen or twenty foot square, with no windows and only one door. The voices she'd heard belonged to three figures seated on the floor, heads covered by sacks and hands tied behind their backs.

The furnishings were sparse. A bed stood, sort of - it was badly damaged - against the far wall, and beside it was a pile of kindling that might have once been a table. Next to the door stood a battered and slightly charred bookshelf, with a few piles of ashes on the shelves that had probably once been its contents.

And on top of the shelf, perched like a gargoyle, was a woman.

The torch she had lit was in a sconce in the wall that opened into a small chimney. Its flickering light danced off the curved knife the woman was scratching at the woodwork with. Only her eyes were visible, wide, yellow-green circles that didn't seem to blink as she squatted imp-like on the low shelf. Her mouth and nose were hidden by red fabric and a hood covered the rest.

"Sleep well?" Her voice was a purr, barely audible, almost hypnotic. Issana couldn't help but shudder.

"Where am I?"

The woman ran a fingertip across the back of her blade. "Far away."

Issana felt her skin crawl with each word. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend. Or I could be, if you play your cards right."

"Who are they?" Issana pointed at the hooded captives.

The woman laughed and scratched a long line across the bookshelf with her knife. "They are my guests. Like you, in a sense."

"How did I get here?"

"We'll get to that later. First, there's some business that must be... taken care of."

The woman slammed her blade into the shelf. "You stole our contract!" she shrieked. But her voice softened almost immediately back to its purr. "You stole our - you stole my - kill. A kill that you must... repay." She laughed, and it was almost a cackle.

Issana tried to back up but bumped against the wall. "Grelod was an accident." She choked on a sob. "I swear."

The woman glanced down at her with strange, unnerving eyes. "Oh, don't cry, little one. I'm not asking much of you. Just one little kill. Just to make me happy. Can you do that?"

"You-you want me to... kill?"

The woman nodded.

"Who?"

The woman looked over at the three bound prisoners.

"Them?" Issana breathed. She could hear the horror in her voice.

"No!" wailed Fultheim.

Alea leaped to her feet. "Don't you dare touch me! You hear me? I'm not afraid of you, and if I didn't have this hood on I'd spit on both of you!"

"Sit down," said the khajit. He turned his head to the woman on the shelf. "I have money, fine weapons; I'll even kill everyone else in this room for you. I don't even need a blade. Name your price."

"Oh, it's not you I want," said the woman. "It's her. There's something... different... about her."

"Me?" said Issana.

"Yes," the woman said softly. "Something... unique. I want you to kill for me."

"No!" Issana shrieked. "I won't kill anyone!"

"I will," said the khajit.

"I'm not talking to you," hissed the woman. She threw the dagger at the wood between Issana's legs and it stuck there. "It's you I want. You killed Grelod. You owe me a kill. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe." Her voice took a disturbingly sensual tone as her head cocked slowly to one side, those big, yellow-green eyes watching her like an owl. "And admire."

"You're mad!"

"Someone will die tonight," said the woman. "One of them," she hissed, drawing a second blade, "or you." She smiled. "But if you choose one of them... I might have more work for you."

"Who are you?"

"Have you not guessed?"

"The Dark Brotherhood."

"Good."

"I'm not a killer."

"Grelod would disagree," the woman laughed. "Or she would, if she was alive."

"That was an _accident!_" Issana screamed, her voice going shrill. "I didn't mean it! I didn't want to kill anyone! I was just protecting myself!"

"That's right!" said Alea. "Don't you listen to her, girl. She's mad! I don't know how you got mixed up in all this, but the Dark Brotherhood is evil. You don't want any part of it!"

The woman slipped off the shelf like a spider and landed without a sound on the wood. "Oh, but you do... You want a family. You're all alone. We're a family. You'd have a place with us."

"No!"

The woman grabbed the knife from between Issana's knees and held it out to her. "It's so easy. Just one cut, there, across the throat. Like this!" In one movement the woman had yanked Issana upright and pressed the blade against her throat. "Just a small cut," she purred into her ear. "I'll show you..."

Issana screamed as the blade cut into her skin. Blood trickled down her neck, warm in the cold air, and the woman withdrew the blade. "You see? Just like that. A little deeper, all the way across..." She released her and offered her the knife again. "Do it," she whispered. "Do it, or I'll cut your throat. You owe me a kill."

Issana pressed a hand against the cut to stop the bleeding. "You're mad."

"So you've said," snapped the woman, pacing sinuously in a circle around her. "Life is madness. Only death is serene. The music of eternal silence..." She thrust the hilt of the dagger at Issana. "Take it."

Issana looked at it in horror. "No!"

The woman flicked the blade and Issana screamed again as it left a thin gash across the other side of her neck.

"I'll do it!" snarled the khajit. "If only to stop her squealing."

"No, you damn well won't!" retorted Alea.

"Please," begged Fultheim. "Please just let us go!"

"Enough!" The Dark Brotherhood woman pointed her knife at them. "If any of you speaks, I'll kill you all myself. Be quiet."

"Killing bound prisoners?" sneered Alea. "That's-"

She didn't finish. The assassin crossed the room in a bound and slashed her across the throat. Blood spurted. Issana screamed. The assassin spun and drove her blade up through the khajit's jaw. He gurgled and fell backwards.

"No! No! No, please!" Fultheim was looking around blindly beneath the sack as the assassin strode towards him. "No!"

Blood sprayed across the floor. Issana screamed again. The assassin turned towards her. "Missed your chance, girl. I guess I get to cut your throat after all."

"What's going on in there?"

The shout came from outside the door. The assassin leaped past Issana as the door burst inward off its hinges. The Imperial soldier who entered didn't get a chance to scream as he took the assassin's blade right through his eye. The assassin sprang over him, out into the snow outside that was blowing in through the open door, and vanished.

Issana was numb, frozen. She hardly noticed the blood that had splattered across her. She stared at the doorway, at the dead soldier with the knife protruding from his eye, and pitched forward onto the floor.


	43. Waking Dreams

_The fog is thick, oily, dark. It might be formed of shadows, like ink smeared across a page or poured into water. It drifts, swirls, forming shapes that boil away the second before they become clear. _

_They are human shapes. _

_Almost recognizable. _

_The first one becomes clear. Gian. The man in the Ratway. The one who-_

_SNAP._

_Crimson ink explodes into the shadows, streaking the air like a macabre painting. A second figure coalesces out of the darkness, the soldier in Ivarstead that crawled across the floor and stained the wood with blood. The blood is flowing, adding to the red ink that now whips and dances like firelight. More soldiers. More death. More blood. _

_Grelod. Red smoke pouring from the gash on her head. _

_The three prisoners, falling, red ink shooting across the sky like fountains. _

_Everything is red. _

_Everything is blood. _

Issana awoke with a start. The air was bitterly cold and stung her eyes as she opened them. Everything was white, blurry.

Snow.

There was snow on the ground and nearby. And she was seated somehow, not lying down like she remembered. Seated on a wooden bench that bumped and jolted her as it-

As it moved.

She was in a cart. There were others too. Three people in the cart with her, and dozens of others nearby.

Soldiers. There were Imperial soldiers everywhere. And there were other carts too, laden with prisoners.

She looked at the three men in her cart. One was clearly a soldier, a Stormcloak by his colours, opposite her with his hands bound in front of him. To her right, a gaunt, poorly clothed man sat with his beady eyes darting around in thinly concealed worry.

The last man in the cart was strikingly different. He was clad in rich furs, though many of them were burned and torn, and beneath them Issana could see dirty, battered, but no less royal armour. And he was huge. Even hunched as he was Issana could see that he must have been nearly seven feet tall standing up.

There was only one person in all Skyrim it could be.

Ulfric Stormcloak.

Gagged and bound in the back of an Imperial cart.

"You're awake."

Issana jumped at the voice and glanced over at the soldier. He was staring at her. "They said you killed three people." His eyes narrowed. "Slashed their throats. Did you?"

Issana felt suddenly sick and couldn't find her voice to answer. She looked down at the floor of the cart.

"Did you?"

"Look at her," said the dirty, underfed man to her right. "She's mad. Can't speak, covered in blood, and she's hardly noticing the cold."

Issana realized that there was a light dusting of snow that had settled on her. She could barely feel it. Everything felt numb.

And the man was right; bloodstains spattered her clothes and arms from when...

_Oh, gods... _

She wanted to forget it but it was burned into her mind forever.

"Answer me, girl," said the soldier. "You don't look like a killer."

Issana shook her head slowly. The man smiled. His face was cut and streaked with dried blood and his blond hair and beard were matted with dirt, but the smile seemed... caring. "I've seen that look before," he said. "On too many men after a battle. You saw something, didn't you? Something terrible."

Issana nodded, just barely.

"Who hasn't, these days?" the man muttered. "What's your name, girl?"

Issana opened her mouth to speak but no sound emerged.

"Don't talk to her," snapped the dirty man beside her. "She's crazy. You're just going to set her off."

The soldier glared at him and he looked away. "Damn you Stormcloaks," he grumbled. "Skyrim was fine before you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!"

"You're a thief?" the soldier replied. He snorted. "I hate thieves."

"Well, not all of us have a choice."

The soldier turned back to Issana. "You might want to brush that snow off before you freeze."

Issana shook her head sharply and saw snow tumble free of her hair. She went to brush the rest off of her legs-

Her hands were bound.

She tugged, trying to break free, but the bonds were too tight. The soldier leaned forwards and smiled again. "Easy there. You're a prisoner, just like us."

Issana managed to awkwardly brush the snow off with both hands. She shivered. Her hands were shaking.

"What's your name?" the soldier asked. "I'm Ralof."

Issana shook her head dumbly. Whatever she tried, she couldn't form words.

"For the love of Talos, let her be," snapped the thief. "Gods know what nonsense she'll start spouting."

Ralof silenced him with another glare. "It's all right," he said to Issana. "I know you didn't kill them. And I've seen terrible things too. You can talk to me. It's all right."

Issana swallowed hard and shook her head again.

"See?" snorted the thief. "She won't say anything. She's lost it."

Ralof turned slowly. "Thief," he growled, "if you say anything more, I'll-"

"You'll what?" the thief spat. "It's over, Stormcloak. Your precious Ulfric Stormcloak has been captured, and the Empire's going to execute-"

"You watch your tongue!" snarled Ralof. "The true High King of Skyrim-"

"True High King?" said the thief. He glanced at Ulfric with a sneer on his lips. "Turned out well, didn't it?" He leaned torwards Ralof. "This is the end of the line for you. But me? I'll go to prison for awhile, and I'll walk out of there again."

Ralof laughed dryly. "You really think you'll be treated any different?"

"I'm no rebel."

Ralof shrugged. "Rikke isn't going to care. She'd murder ten innocent people rather than let a single Stormcloak walk free." He leaned back and sighed, his breath misting in the icy air. "Sovngarde awaits us all, thief."

Issana wasn't really listening. She stared into the surrounding woodlands, watching snow flutter gently down and settle on the trees. Somehow they were in the mountains. Ice-capped peaks rose high on either side.

Everything seemed to be a blur, some sort of waking dream.

She just wanted it to be over.


	44. Black Wings

"Next prisoner."

Issana frowned. There was a city around her, all stone walls and piles of snow. The Imperial soldiers had shoved the captured Stormcloaks into rough lines, single file, and were ordering them forward one at a time.

"You! Step forward!"

Issana looked up. Everyone was staring at her. The Imperial soldier in front of her was a short, sturdy-looking man with a quill and parchment in hand. "Name?" he demanded.

Issana glanced up at the sky. It was clear and blue. The snow had stopped sometime ago, though she couldn't say when. All around her, the scarlet livery of the Empire created a sea of colour amid flashes of polished armour. Pennants fluttered high in the wind and metal clanked and people shouted.

A soldier seized her by the arm and dragged her forward. "Do as you're told, prisoner."

Issana looked back at the soldier with the quill. She said nothing.

The soldier holding her arm cuffed her across the head. "Speak!"

"That's enough," said the first soldier. "Can't you see she's no Stormcloak?" He beckoned to a woman in heavy, fur-adorned armour. "What should we do with this one, Legate? She won't speak, but she doesn't look like a Stormcloak."

The legate was engaged in a quiet conversation with an older, balding man clad in armour that looked almost royal. The diamond dragon symbol of the Empire was clearly visible on both his breastplate and shield. The legate didn't turn. "If our men brought them in, they go to the block. We're not here to have a tribunal."

The soldier hesitated. "By your orders, Legate."

Issana was grabbed again and shoved into a different line. She looked around. There was a body on the ground about twenty yards away with two arrows sticking out of it. Some of the snow beneath it had turned red.

She could hardly tell if she'd seen it happen. It was the horse thief from the cart. He'd panicked, tried to run. She didn't remember what happened after. It felt like a dream.

Issana didn't know how long she stood there in the cold mountain air. She wasn't shivering, or if she was she couldn't tell. Some of the soldiers were moving, pushing the captured Stormcloaks into line. "General Tullius, sir!" The voice was crisp and clear, like the air. "The headsman is waiting!"

The man to whom the legate had been speaking grunted something and crunched through the snow in the direction of the voice. "All right. Let's get this over with."

Tullius stopped in the centre of the square, shaded from the midday sun by the sturdy stone tower that stood behind him. On his right, a priestess in traditional robes stood examining a book, and on his left stood a muscular man in a black hood, leaning on a heavy axe. Tullius massaged his temples momentarily, staring at the ground, before finally straightening up. "Ulfric Stormcloak!" His voice rang out through the square, silencing the soldiers and onlookers. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero." He paused for a moment. "But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne! You started this war, Ulfric. You plunged Skyrim into chaos. Every drop of blood spilled on every field, every child without a father, it's all on your shoulders. Perhaps you can take solace in the fact that you don't have to live with that guilt much longer."

Tullius raised his eyes slightly to look at the clear sky over Helgen's battlements and waited a moment. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion, for your act of treason and by the the power granted to me by Emperor Titus Mede the Second, I sentence you to die. Step towards the block."

Thunder rolled down the mountains from far to the north. Tullius frowned and glanced up at the sky. A small cluster of dark clouds were barely visible behind some of the northern peaks.

Ulfric shook off the soldier who tried to lead him towards the block. He straightened his head, and even gagged, the strength of his jaw and the gleam of his eyes made him look more regal, more noble, and more imposing than anyone else in the square. With slow and deliberate steps he strode towards the block, until he stood before General Tullius and dwarfed him.

Thunder rolled through the mountains again. The clouds were moving fast, too fast, swallowing up the northern peaks and racing towards the town like smoke. Lightning flashed white deep within the clouds.

In the distance, something roared. It might have been a bear. Maybe a sabrecat. But it was deeper, stronger, and far, far louder.

Issana knew. Somehow, she knew. She didn't know how she knew, nor could she explain the feeling, but she knew. The clouds overtook the sun, billowing out across Helen, shrouding the town in shadow, and even Ulfric Stormcloak seemed to be forgotten by the Imperial officers as they all stared anxiously up at the blackened sky.

Then, Issana saw it.

She'd seen it once before. In a vision. Many more times in dreams. Ebony scales, wings like a bat more monstrous in size than anything else on the earth. Its eyes shone with the red fires of Oblivion and its teeth and claws were like swords.

Someone shouted, "Dragon!"

The monster plunged out of the clouds with wings outstretched. People were screaming, running, panicking, and even the soldiers were fleeing from the square. The dragon landed on the watchtower, fifty feet long, crushing the parapets beneath its weight. It roared, an immense bellow that seemed to come out of the depths of the earth itself.

Fire rained from the sky. Great chunks of molten stone plummeted from the storm and crashed into Helgen. Roofs were burning, stone was cracking and people were pushing and shoving at each other to get free of the square. Someone hit Issana hard in the shoulder and sent her spinning into the ground. Her head cracked against the stone and the whole world went black for a moment. Fire and smoke flashed across her blurry vision.

But she knew that dragon. It was the same one she'd seen in the vision deep in Snow Veil Sanctum.

Something deep within her awoke, a fierce determination that shoved her back to her feet.

"Come on!" Someone seized her by the sleeve. "The gods won't give us another chance!"

Issana sprang after him. Ralof released her and sprinted through the burning streets as the dragon vaulted free of the tower, showing the town square with rubble. Issana looked away as pieces of the collapsing stonework tumbled down on fleeing the fleeing townsfolk. The streets were awash with flame, with great plumes of smoke billowing from every window. Issana coughed as she ran and tried to blink away the ash that clung to her eyes.

Ralof threw her through the doorway of a stone tower. She hit the ground hard and rolled upright, turning just in time to see Ralof dive in after her. Fire scoured the stone where he'd stood a fraction of a second before as the dragon surged by overhead, flames roaring from its jaws. Issana shielded her face with her arms against the wash of heat.

"Jarl Ulfric," Ralof gasped, sagging against the wall, "what was that? Could the legends be true?"

Ulfric Stormcloak stepped from the huddle of Stormcloaks in the tower and stooped to peer out of the doorway. The crackle of burning buildings and the screams of the terrified townsfolk were everywhere. "Legends don't burn down villages."

One of the Stormcloaks hastily cut Ralof's bonds, then Issana's. A roar shook the stones of the tower. "We need to move," shouted Ulfric. "Now."

Fire streamed from the sky across the street outside, charring the dirt. A wooden house groaned and cracked and its whole upper floor began to list, leaning dangerously towards the tower entrance. "Go!" shouted Ulfric. "Go now!"

Two Stormcloaks gave a frantic look for the dragon and ran. Three more followed, then Ulfric himself. Ralof grabbed Issana by the shoulder. "Ready?"

Issana nodded. Ralof was just about to run from the doorway when the burning house shifted again, but this time it didn't stop. Ralof threw Issana back inside and bellowed, "Ulfric!"

Ulfric looked up just as the entire face of the house tore free and fell towards him. He stopped, looked ahead up the road and back at the tower, and seemed to realize he had nowhere to go. He planted his feet and stared up at the avalanche of burning timber.

"_Fus ro dah!_"

The words thundered from his mouth with a force that Issana felt reverberate through her chest. The burning wood exploded away from him, tumbling to either side in a spray of sparks and ash. The last wooden beams supporting the house gave way and the whole thing fell, a deafening, blazing pile of debris that crashed against the tower and filled the doorway with burning wood. Issana leaped clear just in time, landing a few feet up the tower's spiral stairs and avoiding the plank that slid through the door after her.

Ralof jumped back as another piece of timber dropped over the doorway, spewing sparks into the tower's base. "Damn!" he said. "We're not getting out that way." He pointed up. "There are windows on the second level. We might be able to climb down. Go!"

Issana sprang up the stairs two at a time. The numbness, the dread, the sense of emptiness, it was all gone. For the first time in days she felt _alive._

She made it to the second level and saw the windows, four of them, one at each compass point. The tower shook and dust fell from the ceiling above her head like something massive had hit the ground nearby. Issana ran for the nearest window and looked out.

The town blazed like a bonfire. Every house and building was engulfed in flames, stones were cracking and falling in the heat and the streets were littered with bodies. Helgen stank of charred flesh.

Issana ducked as the dragon roared past. The rain of fire from the clouds had ceased as if somehow satisfied by the destruction. The dragon circled, its massive head turning to the left and right as it searched for prey.

"It's gone past," said Ralof. "Out the window, quickly!" He pointed at an adjacent house whose roof had caved in, but where the fires were less intense. "Jump through the roof and keep going! I'll follow!"

Issana squeezed out of the narrow window and stood on the ledge. It was a long jump. "Go!" said Ralof. "It's coming back!"

Issana leaped. The hot air and smoke blew past her as the upper floor of the house rushed up to meet her. She slammed into it, trying to roll, but her body crashed through the charred wood instead and sent her tumbling down to the main level. She hit the floor hard and cried out as sharp pain burst through her side.

Ralof hit the ground beside her. He sprang to his feet, reaching for her, but his leg gave out beneath him. He gasped and caught himself on a wall. "Come on," he panted. "Out into the street. If we can make it to the keep-"

The dragon roared again and Issana felt a fresh wash of heat roll over her from somewhere behind them. Ralof limped out of the house through a gaping hole where the door had once been. "It's not far," he said. "Down this street and to the left. Let's go!"

He broke into a hobbling run. Issana pushed herself upright, ignoring the pain in her side, and ran after him. Buildings were collapsing around them and spewing ash and smoke into the sky; Issana felt like she was choking. Ralof's limp was getting worse and was turning his run into a shambling hop-skip as Issana clutched her side behind him.

Wind slammed Issana into the ground and she tasted blood. She rolled onto her back, dazed, and saw only blackness outlined in a crimson glow.

The dragon was right above her.

It landed on a house and crushed it underneath its weight. The beat of its wings was whipping the ash and sparks into a firestorm that bloomed beneath it like it was rising from hell. Issana rolled and dropped painfully into a ditch and Ralof thumped into the ground beside her. The dragon flapped its immense wings and swept the street in hellfire. The heat beat down on them in the ditch; Issana cried out in pain but the flames didn't touch them. The dragon took off again, blowing debris into the ditch with every pump of its wings.

"Go!" said Ralof. He braced against the side of the ditch and offered his hands as a step. Issana gasped as she stood, feeling the burns that streaked her body, and clambered onto the street.

"To the keep!" Ralof shouted. "There!"

Issana ran for it. Her feet pounded against the road as each breath pulled hot, dust-filled air into her lungs. Ralof was right behind her, clutching his leg with one hand and steadying himself with the other. They rounded the corner of a smashed stone building and saw the keep, a squat,square structure in Helgen's outer wall, just ahead. Issana reached it first.

"Stop!"

Issana half-turned and saw three Imperial soldiers coming after them. Ralof grabbed the door. "We're escaping, Hadvar," he bellowed. "You're not stopping us this time!"

The Imperial looked up, over the keep and into the sky. His eyes widened. "Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

The soldiers ran. Ralof shoved the door open with his shoulder and leaped inside with Issana just behind. The dragon blew past overhead with fire screaming from its jaws, charring the cobblestone streets. Ralof slammed the door shut. He slumped against it. "We made it." " He sank to the ground and rested his head back against the wall. "Are you all right?"

Issana nodded. "A few bruises and burns. I thought I cracked a rib when we jumped from the tower but it seems all right now. What about you?"

Ralof smiled. "You're talking now. That's good. My leg is weak but I can hobble, I think. Help me up."

Issana grabbed his hand and pulled him upright. Ralof tested his leg carefully. "That thing was a dragon. Just like the children's stories and the legends. The Harbingers of the End Times."

"I've seen it before."

"What?"

"That same dragon. I saw it in a vision. There was a wall with runes on it, and I-" She saw Ralof's expression and stopped.

"Well, I don't know about any visions," said Ralof slowly, eyeing her warily. "But we'd better get moving before the real thing comes back."

Issana took stock of the room. There was an abandoned table in one corner and a few Imperial banners adorning the walls, but besides that the room was empty. Opposite them was a wooden door. "We'd best be quiet," said Ralof. "There might be Imperial soldiers around." He crossed the room and listened at the door for a moment, then pushed it open.

The keep was deserted. Ralof's fears seemed unfounded as they made their way through the dimly lit passages and abandoned rooms. They found the armoury, a small room with an assortment of nearly empty weapon racks, and Ralof picked up a battered old war-axe. He beckoned to Issana. "You ever used a weapon before?"

"Not really."

Ralof held out one of the short, angular swords of the Imperial legion. "Take this. Use the point, it'll do you much better than the edge."

Issana gripped it tightly in both hands. Ralof chuckled. "Better than nothing. Let's go."

The hallway ended with a wooden door. Ralof pressed his ear against it. "I think it's clear." He pushed it open.

The room seemed to be some sort of kitchen, with a hearth on one side and a few tables on the other. Most of the food seemed to have been scattered in the chaos; barrels had fallen over and the floor was littered with scraps.

But in the centre of the room stood two Imperial soldiers, staring at them.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Nobody moved.

The Imperials charged. Steel rang shrilly in the stone chamber as they drew their swords; Ralof scarcely had time to stumble back into the hallway before one of the Imperial blades bit deep into the doorframe. One legionary went after him. The other came straight for Issana.

She brought her blade up and clumsily batted the soldier's first blow aside. The legionary grunted and kicked out, catching her across the ankles and knocking her to the floor. The man lunged but Issana was faster; she dropped her sword and tackled him. His armour banged against the stone and his sword clattered out of reach. He reached for a knife at his belt and Issana rolled off him, seizing her sword on the way up. She kicked the knife out of his hands and pointed the blade at his throat.

"Don't hesitate!" screamed Ralof. "Kill him!"

Issana looked up momentarily. The soldier struck her weapon aside and grabbed her around the knees. She fell painfully on the stone and let go of the sword. The soldier grabbed it, rose to one knee and poised to drive it through her chest-

Warm blood spattered her face. The legionary hit the ground hard, propelled by the force of Ralof's blow. Issana didn't move. She realized she was shaking.

Ralof loomed over her, the axe still dripping in his hand. "You hesitated."

Issana looked sideways at the dead legionary. The axe had cut deep into the side of his head and exposed the shattered bone and everything else inside. She stared for a long moment, then rolled onto her hands and knees and vomited violently onto the stone.

When at last she looked up, Ralof had wiped his axe on the soldier's corpse and was leaning against the wall. He held out her sword again. She shook her head. "I don't want it."

Ralof lowered it. "Do you want to get out of here alive?"

Issana hesitated, then nodded.

"But if an Imperial soldier tries to run you through," said Ralof, "you'll let him?"

Issana said nothing.

"Sometimes fighting for what you believe means giving up your own life," said Ralof. "Sometimes it means taking someone else's."

"It's not my war."

"Not-" Ralof exclaimed, "-not your war?" He opened his mouth furiously to speak, but caught himself. "Girl, if you call Skyrim home, you're going to have to choose a side sooner or later. And right now, only one side hasn't tried to execute you and isn't trying to kill you." He held out the sword again.

"What was it like?" Issana said.

"What was what like?"

"Killing someone. The first time." Issana thought back to Grelod. _That was different. It was an accident._

Ralof hesitated, and Issana knew the next words he spoke would be a lie. "I don't remember." He looked down at the floor. "But I'm alive. I'm alive and fighting for the freedom of Skyrim and all her people. My father's freedom, my sister's, my son's…" His voice cracked, but only just. "And everyone I've never met too. Yours, even. Why? Because I did what I had to do to live. Are you willing to do that? Because if you aren't, you'll only get us both killed."

Issana looked at the sword, then up at Ralof. "How do you deal with it?"

"Mostly?" said Ralof. "I drink. I used to get Honningbrew mead before the place burned down."

Issana laughed aloud in spite of herself. Ralof bristled. "You think it's funny?"

"No," said Issana. "It's just… I'm the one who burned it down."

Ralof's mouth hung open. "What?"

Issana nodded. "I was there, dealing with a skeever problem in the caves underneath the meadery. There was a madman living down there. He attacked me and the place caught fire and burned to the ground."

A smile twitched at Ralof's lips. "Sounds like you've got a tale or two to tell. You'll have to tell me your story. _After_," he said, and thrust the hilt of the sword at her, "_after _we make it out."


	45. The Man She Killed

The hallway split off several times as they moved deeper into the keep, and Ralof seemed to be guessing the right path every bit as much as Issana was. He would look left, then right, pause, and then take one seemingly at random.

"Where are we going?" said Issana.

"To the prison," Ralof replied. "When we were brought in, I overheard one of the soldiers say one of the cells had collapsed into an old escape tunnel. They said it was a way out." He grinned at her. "Probably why they didn't try to put us there before sending us to the block."

Issana grunted. "Thanks for reminding me."

Ralof laughed. "Come on. I think the cells are down here." He pointed to the staircase just ahead. At the bottom was a heavy, reinforced wooden door. "That must be the door to the prison." He pressed his ear against it but shook his head. "Can't hear anything through it. Are you ready?"

Issana nodded and clenched the sword tightly. Ralof gripped the handle of the door and tugged.

Three sounds hit Issana all at once. The door shrieked on its old hinges, metal clanged off the stone floor in the room beyond, and two voices cried out in surprise.

Issana found herself staring into a nightmare.

Three cages, each just barely large enough for a man, stood against the far wall. Directly in front of them, in full view of the cages, was a sort of table with straps, ropes and winches attached to it. Issana had heard enough stories growing up to know it for what it was: a rack. Rumour had it that the Black-Briars kept one in their basement. Piled around the table was a gruesome arrangement of knives, pincers, spikes, and tools Issana didn't dare question.

It was Helgen's torture chamber.

Two men stood over the pile of torture tools and looked like they'd dropped them in surprise. One was a big brute of a man with greasy, matted hair while the other was a scrawny, spidery man man in a hood and a sort of apron that was stained with old blood.

"Torturers," growled Ralof. He raised his axe and stepped into the room.

The big man grinned and drew a long, curved knife from the back of his belt. "Another Stormcloak. Let me carve you up like I did the last one."

The smaller man took a step back, shielding himself with his big companion. Ralof advanced anyway. "Take the small one," Ralof said to Issana. "I've got this one."

The big man charged. In the same moment, the smaller man darted to one side, trying to skirt the fight and make it to the door. Issana stepped in front of him, sword pointed at his chest. "Stay back!"

Issana heard a horrifying squeal from Ralof's opponent and looked over. The man was bent double, Ralof's axe buried in his gut. The small torturer lunged. Issana leaped back out of reach and the man charged, swinging wildly with the knife. Some slashes went wide but Issana felt pain burning like fire across her left shoulder. The torturer pounced.

The knife slipped from his hand. He stared down at his chest, where the point of Issana's sword had cut through his apron. Fresh blood mixed crimson with the brown stains. A thin sigh escaped his lips and he slid backwards off the blade.

Issana stumbled backwards, staring at the dead man and the blood running down her sword. The weapon clattered to the stone floor and she fell against the wall.

"You did it," said Ralof.

Issana didn't answer.

"How do you feel?"

Issana shook her head.

Ralof put a hand on her shoulder. "Listen to me. Look around. Look at what these men did every day."

"I… I killed him." Her hands were shaking again.

"Yes. Cleanly. He felt a lot less pain than anything he ever did to the people he kept here. Better than he deserved." Ralof prodded the body with his boot.

"Don't touch it!" Issana shrieked. The shrillness of her voice startled her.

Ralof looked over at her. "Girl, these men _tortured_ people. Don't you get that? These were _evil_ men. And you've stopped them. Can't you see that?"

Issana looked up sharply. "Do Stormcloaks torture?"

Ralof looked taken aback. "What?"

Issana's shock was quickly giving way to anger. "Do the Stormcloaks use torture too?"

Ralof hesitated. "I don't."

Issana stood up. "That wasn't my question."

Ralof threw up his hands. "What do you want me to say? War is complicated_. _We do what we have to-"

"Yes," Issana spat. "Just like every Imperial soldier you've killed." Issana stepped up close and stared him in the face. "You think you're different from them? From the men you killed upstairs? You're wrong. And I want no part of it." She turned away. "I'll find my own way out. I'm done with you." She slammed the door behind her.


	46. Out of Helgen

Helgen's prison was located deep within the keep. The locks on most of the cell doors seemed to have rusted away; some doors had fallen inwards off their hinges. The place stank of stagnant water, water which had pooled in some of the cells and seemed to be seeping up through the flagstones.

Issana found the tunnel without difficulty. The furthest cell had collapsed into the floor and left a six-foot wide, pitch dark hole in the ground. She lay down at the edge and leaned into it. There was water down there; she could hear it, maybe a few inches of it running along the floor about five feet down. There was a faint blue glow coming from down the tunnel, somewhere around a corner. It didn't look like daylight.

She dropped into the hole. Her feet hit the ground sooner than she expected and caused her to stumble in surprise as several inches of icy water rushed over her feet. She swore.

Ralof couldn't be far behind. Issana wasted no time, stooping slightly to avoid scraping her head on the tunnel ceiling, and felt her way blindly along the rock.

_Shouldn't I feel more guilty?_

The thought caught her by surprise. Yes, she should. Shouldn't she? She'd killed a man, watched as the blade went into his chest. But she didn't. No, what bothered her more was that for a moment she'd believed Ralof, that they were in the right and the Imperials were wrong. But she knew that if she'd escaped with a Imperial legionary instead, he'd have said the exact same thing.

_Damn it._

She rounded the corner into light and found herself staring at a strange, flat mushroom growing out of the wall, glowing phosphorescent blue. There were others too, scattered at no regular interval down the tunnel ahead. The light was dim, but enough.

It still felt wrong that she didn't feel guilty about the dead man. She knew what he'd done, what he'd been, but that shouldn't have mattered, should it? Or maybe it had been the last straw, the final traumatic event that snapped her.

_Maybe I can't feel anything now._

The passage twisted several times and Issana found herself blinking frequently. Her eyes felt irritated, like…

Smoke. She could smell it now too. There was either a fire in the tunnel, or…

The tunnel turned again and Issana saw bright light streaming in from around a corner ahead. The smell of fire was stronger and breathing was starting to feel uncomfortable so she pressed her mouth and nose into the crook of her elbow. She rounded the corner.

Sunlight burned in her face, shining from the blue sky high above. She moved her arm to shield her eyes and coughed as the taste of smoke assailed her lungs. The tunnel had opened onto a steep hillside that ran downwards for several hundred feet and was dotted with trees and flowers. At the bottom the forest grew thicker, and beyond that, maybe ten or fifteen miles away, a snow-capped mountain range rose high and ran into the distance to the left and the right.

She turned around and looked back up the hill. Heavy, grey smoke was streaked across the sky like paint. She listened hard but couldn't make out any sounds of the city. Everything seemed to have gone silent.

Her shoulder throbbed and she realized she'd almost forgotten about it. She looked down at it and saw blood staining her shirt around a sizeable tear in the fabric. She peeled back the shirt at the cut and looked. It wasn't bad. It was long and shallow, nothing that wouldn't heal once she bandaged it. It didn't hurt much either. Either she was losing her mind, or else the injuries she'd sustained at Mercer's hands had permanently dulled her sense of pain.

_Probably both._

Issana looked back towards the smoke and scanned the sky. There was no sign of the dragon.

But where had it come from? Dragons weren't supposed to exist. They were stories. Legends. Myth.

But that one was real. _And I've seen it before_.

_Why?_ What had been written on that wall that had drawn her near and given her a vision of the creature so long before it had appeared in Skyrim? Someone had to know. But who in their right mind would believe her? They'd say the attack had addled her mind, that she was remembering things that never happened.

_Damn it._ None of that would matter if she didn't get somewhere safe where she could recover. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. Mentally, she pictured the map of Skyrim that Mercer had always kept at his desk.

Mercer…

Where was he now? Had Brynjolf and Karliah gone after him? Had they caught him?

And Brynjolf… The man who'd been her mentor for almost five years. The man who'd given her a chance to live, and she'd thrown it back in his face after everything he'd done.

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. All of them, Brynjolf, Delvin, even Vex, she missed them all.

_But I won't go back. I'm done with that life. I'm starting over._

Her stomach growled loudly at her. A goal was all well and good but it wouldn't help if she dropped dead of starvation in the middle of the forest. She set off down the hill. If she recalled the map correctly, then Riverwood couldn't be more than twenty miles to the northeast. There should be a road at the bottom of the valley that followed the White River to Whiterun.

She was momentarily struck by the notion that she might meet Imperial soldiers on the road. But surely none of them would recognize her. And there had to be refugees fleeing from Helgen so it wouldn't be surprise to them to encounter a bruised, ash- and blood-stained girl making her way to Riverwood.

Hopefully.

If anyone did recognize her, well… She'd deal problem when it came up.


End file.
